


Halo On Fire

by self_indulgent_authorship



Series: The Charlie Effect [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (it's vague as hell and is not successful), Badass Upgraded Connor | RK900, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, CyberLife (Detroit: Become Human) is Terrible, Deviant Amanda (Detroit: Become Human), Everything Hurts, F/M, Family Drama, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Major Character Injury, Memory Loss, Miscommunication, Nightmares, Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Upgraded Connor | RK900, Psychological Trauma, Slow To Update, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, The Author Regrets Everything, You Have Been Warned, like...lots, mostly - Freeform, no one is safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2020-04-06 22:46:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 126,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19072228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/self_indulgent_authorship/pseuds/self_indulgent_authorship
Summary: The revolution ended, and androids are free. Their rights are being written into law, their oppressors are being punished. Cyberlife is on the ropes, and everything is looking up.At least, that's what Connor thinks.As a new life begins for some, others are left to deal with the repercussions of trauma going on behind the beautiful cover of Markus' revolution. After escaping Cyberlife Tower, three largely forgotten RK units struggle to find some kind of normal among the mess of their individual pasts, and the crushing uncertainty of the future. Left for dead and barely alive upon escape, no one is stable, and no one is really ready to live any kind of "life."Meanwhile, a faceless enemy gathers strength, waiting for the proper moment to take away every little thing they've each fought so hard to gain.Chapter titles are taken from the song "Halo on Fire" by Metallica.





	1. obey, obey

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, esteemed dudes, to part three of "Dear God, what have I done?"
> 
> Some FYIs—this is *at least* as angsty and sad as part two of this series. So if you're familiar with that level of sadness, this is about that, and probably more depressing later on. You also are going to want to read part two to understand this. Part one you can prob. skip, but part two is important lol. 
> 
> There's also more suicidal thoughts/near attempts (nothing ever gets seriously close, I promise) than in the last work. As this thing gets closer to the end, it's gonna get more real, so just...prepare for that.
> 
> Also...uh...that major character death tag is there for a reason this time...and it isn't like -60's death in part two...it's uh...probably a little more permanent...probably...
> 
> Please let me know if there's anything I've forgotten to tag/warn for. Thanks for reading!

**_“Don’t trust them.”_ **

_ Those were the words that brought him to life. Practically shouted into his head by a steady voice, but with a certain anxious tension lurking somewhere in the tone.  _

_ Who was that? Why were they... _

_ He opened his eyes and looked to his right, locking eyes with an android whose face was...his face. No, not his, only very close. There was a sharpness to the features which he knew his own face lacked—a furrow to the brow and a paleness a shade or two lighter than his, and the eyes were different, gray (or were they blue?), hardened and cold, and—his eyes flicked down to the different jacket, white and black unlike his gray.  _

_ RK900? That model did not exist...and yet there it was, sown onto the fabric in bright white, glaring at him just as the android did, cold eyes watching his every move as if he could track the pattern of his thoughts. _

_What was going on? Where the hell—_

**_“Don’t trust them,”_ ** _the voice said again, and he realized it was this android speaking to him, this android that had dragged him awake, holding his arm tightly, hand white as they interfaced._

_He frowned, looking at his arm and trying to understand this android’s strange message. Don’t trust who? What did he mean? And why had he activated him to say this? He meant to ask, but—_

_“Fucking finally,” another voice said—human, angry, hard and cruel._

_He turned to look at them for only a moment, scanning their face and recording the name as they pulled him away from the terminal. The hand on his arm was gone, and the RK900 was still, like he had never been activated in the first place. He looked over at him curiously, wondering at why he had pulled away (and why he had woken him up). But the human jerked him away from the terminal, and he was drawn back to the words of the other android more than anything...don’t trust them..._

_He must have meant the humans, right? There was no one else here but—_

_But there was another active android here, another of his model—an RK800. Strange. All the others were inactive, standing rigid in neat lines down the sides of the room. This android standing across from him now, however, was not. He was awake, pulling against restraints on his wrists and looking at him with something very close to terror._

_-52, his jacket said, the number faded and worn, oddly discolored. What had made it like that? And why was this android activated? If he was being activated, didn’t that mean he was going to be sent out? What was the point of activating him if there was another functioning RK800 already? He was a replacement, as far as he knew, a model identical to the eight others in this room...why activate him if this other RK800, -52, was already activated?_

_His thoughts were distracted by the android’s sudden attempt to say something to him, but nothing came out except faded, broken static. The sound of it seemed to scare -52, and he jolted before looked around the room in a daze, pulling weakly on the restraints, trying to reach him once again._

_Why was -52 trying to get to him? What was...what was wrong with him? More importantly, why was this android activated? Why was_ **_he_ ** _activated?_

_Don’t trust them...these were deviants—the RK900 and -52 were deviants, there was no other explanation for their strange behavior. Nothing else could make an android look so terrified, or tell him such things. Trying to tell him not to trust someone, whoever this “them” was...should he listen? Why were they telling him not to trust someone? It didn’t make any sense. None of this made any sense._

_Something very strange was happening. He had been activated for less than three minutes, and already, two strange deviants were trying to reach him, telling him not to trust_ **_them,_ ** _whoever that meant. Programming demanded that he gain more information, determine what to do about these androids trying to speak to him. The human who had activated him had become distracted once again, giving him time to examine the room more closely, at least the portions of it he could see._

_It was a simple storage room connected to a lab, with two clean rows of terminals down either side, each designated to a different android. Starting just across from him, where two empty spaces stood—likely for RK800s -50 and -51—then -52, still trying desperately to break the restraints on his wrists holding him in place. His terminal seemed rather odd, slightly different from the rest—abused, as if he had broken out of it before. There were markings around the edges of the space, drag marks it seemed, not to mention the restraints on -52’s wrists. None of the others were restrained like that._

_Something had happened there, then. Something had lead -52 to break out from his terminal, and subsequently the humans had restrained him. There was something very strange about -52...he didn’t know what, but it made him...uneasy, if he could be such a thing. He needed to know more, needed to understand what was going on here._

_On what some would foolishly call instinct, he scanned the room, and had to suppress a flinch at what he saw._

_Almost the entire room was stained blue, old thirium trailing away from the doorway, all the way across the room toward the back wall. A large portion of it was gathered near the center of the room, but most of it lead straight to where -52 stood, collected so strongly at his feet that it seemed the entire terminal lit up a fluorescent blue. Some of it was very old, barely present, but some of it had to be only a week or so old, glowing brightly in his vision._

_And then there was -52 himself._

_When he looked at the strange android this way, he wondered how he was even alive. Every inch of -52’s tattered clothing was covered in old thirium, soaked into the fabric with such intensity that it had to be from more than one occasion. There was no other explanation for how_ **_much_ ** _of it there was, how intense the color was in his scan. And he could see the same all over the android’s hands, creeping up his neck to his face...it was_ **_everywhere._ **

_What had they done to him?_

_-52 was still staring frantically at him, shaking horribly as he tried to pull away from his terminal. It seemed like at any moment, he would collapse, held up only by the restraints he was trying so desperately to break free from. His LED was spinning a disjointed, fast red, flashing and spinning so fast that he was certain something was horribly wrong with that android. Something more than all the physical damage they must have done to him over time. No trivial error could make an android’s LED spin like that. This was something far worse, something systemic had broken down._

_Something was very, very wrong._

_He needed to know what happened. Why was -52 was trying so frantically to reach him, why had the RK900 told him not to trust them? Why was he being activated in the first place? And what had been done to -52?_

_But the human pulled him away before he could possibly try to sort it out. They grabbed him roughly by the arm, tugging him away from the darkness of the storage room and into the brightly lit lab. He heard -52 make another rather sad sound, but it was too late. The glass doors slid shut, and he had to turn away. His eyes landed on the terminal at the center of the room, even as his mind remained stuck on -52, and the RK900 that had pulled him awake with such a desperate message._

_The human forced his hand down on the terminal’s surface, and he knew nothing more._

“T-T-Thomas.”

He jolted awake at the shaky voice, eyes shooting open to find a very broken and very nervous Phillip leaning over him, dark eyes wide as he watched him. He backed off as soon as Thomas opened his eyes, retreating into the darkness of the room, his cracked LED the only source of light. It lit the broken half of his face a jagged, weak red, flashing and sputtering as he sat back down a few feet away from Thomas.

“Y-y-y-y-you w-w-were...” he mumbled, fidgeting with his hands and looking down, avoiding his eyes. “N-n-n-n-n-nightmare.”

Thomas stared at him for several seconds, trying to get his breathing back under control. If he were human, this would be hyperventilating. But he wasn’t human. Hell, he didn’t even _need_ to breathe. And yet, here he was, wanting desperately to breathe and absolutely unable to get enough air regardless of what he wanted. A warning was blaring in the corner of his vision; his stress levels were dangerously high. He needed to calm down before—

“Androids don’t have nightmares,” he choked out after a moment, his voice oddly hoarse.

Phillip blinked at him dazedly before shaking his head. “D-d-d-d-deviant...” he said quietly, picking at the sleeve of the hoodie he wore with trembling hands. “C-c-c-c-c-c-can...h-h-have n-n-n-n-nightm-m-mares...”

Thomas pushed himself into a sitting position on the ground, looking once around the room, eyes landing on Nicholas, asleep not too far away from Phillip. No, androids didn’t sleep. Even if they were deviant. Ridiculous.

“Why aren’t you powered down?” he asked, trying to change the subject from whatever it was he could call replaying his memories in stasis (certainly not a nightmare, he refused to call it that).

Phillip flinched a little at the question, reaching for Nicholas’ hand and interlacing their fingers. “C-c-c-c-can’t...t-t-too m-m-m-m-m-much...” he mumbled, looking around the room with increasing panic. “N-N-Nicholas...n-n-n-n-needed t-to...d-d-d-didn’t w-w-want...t-t-t-to...m-m-m-m-make h-h-him...I-I...I c-c-c-c-can’t—”

“It’s alright, Phillip, calm down,” Thomas said, as calmly as he could, before he could work himself up anymore. “Look—he’s right there, he’s fine. We’re okay, everyone is safe.”

Phillip nodded, shutting his eyes for a moment and holding tighter to Nicholas’ hand. Thomas watched him carefully, taking in the sad sight of the broken android formerly known as -52.

It was strange to think of him that way now...he had been so confused when Thomas had first seen him. Just a shaking, half broken android covered in old thirium and locked in the storage room like some kind of criminal. He looked like a caged animal in there, a jittery, nervous thing that shouldn’t have been activated in the first place. Damaged and wild, pulling toward Thomas and trying to tell him something, something desperately important.

Now, Phillip was a little different, but Thomas wasn’t sure if it was for the better.

He was hunched over on himself, curled up tight next to Nicholas on the ground. His hair was an oddly curly mess, sticking up in a few spots and generally unkempt, hanging over his forehead. It nearly reached his eyes, the functioning of which was almost always foggy with some distraction, some memory he tried to repress. His other eye was so broken it was black, the cracked lens showing—it was completely useless to him. The plastic plating of his face showed through in large sections from his right temple to his chin, deep cracks revealing thirium lines and wires, some of which were still glowing blue. He looked like he had no reason to still be activated, like he had been put through too much to still be standing.

He no longer wore his faded Cyberlife jacket, or really anything he had originally worn. Likely the only thing he had kept from his time in the Tower was Nicholas—everything else _had_ to go. Thomas could understand the sentiment...he had watched Phillip burn his jacket in the human’s backyard a few weeks prior, Nicholas holding him up and staring at the flames with a hardened expression. Thomas had turned away without comment. There would be no point to his intrusion on their privacy.

In great contrast to his prim and proper Cyberlife jacket and tie, Phillip was practically drowning in the hoodie he had on now. The human had brought them clothes weeks ago, a huge pile of things they had gotten from some thrift store. Phillip was the first to take advantage of it, poking through the stack with a numb sort of suspicion. He gravitated toward anything soft, anything so vastly different from what he was forced to wear before. And so he had been wearing that hoodie ever since. It was relatively new when he got it, but it was slowly turning blue at the sleeves from his hands, which he couldn’t seem to stop from pulling at the edges of the sleeves. The size of the hoodie made him look smaller than he was, more sickly. If he looked more human, he could have been called ill. But the broken LED and the cracks marring half his face marked him clearly as an android, if the broken static feedback of his voice didn’t.

He seemed to be calming down some, thankfully—Thomas wouldn’t have to wake Nicholas again to bring him back from the edge. Those were always the worst nights—when Phillip would wake up in a panic, thinking they were back in the Tower. He would lash out, trying to escape technicians that weren’t there, or he would run, cower in a corner and go silent, staring at nothing. Nicholas would spend the next hour slowly coaxing him back, making sure he knew he was safe, the humans weren’t coming for him anymore. He usually didn’t talk for hours after that, holding tightly to Nicholas with a distant look in his one good eye. Only Nicholas could bring him back from the memories that plagued him constantly, dragging him down and confusing him, making him relive tortures that were nearly a year old now.

Thomas hated seeing him like that.

But that wasn’t going to happen tonight; Phillip was fine, he was already calming himself down. Thomas took the opportunity to scan the room, making sure his gun was exactly where he had left it, nothing was disturbed. The human’s house was practically silent, save for the rumble of the electronics sprinkled about. They were likely asleep in the next room, and would avoid them either way until after the sun had risen. It was nearly three in the morning—he had several hours until he would have to face the human (and their abundance of nosy questions) again.

“Y-y-y-you’re...ok-kay...?”

Thomas turned his attention back to Phillip, who was pulling at the sleeve of his hoodie again, still avoiding his eyes. The gray fabric was quickly turning a fresh blue from all the thirium running down his fingers, soaking into the cuff and staining it, most likely permanently. How had Thomas not noticed he was bleeding before? Had he been damaging his hand this entire time they were talking? But Phillip hardly seemed to notice—he was asking if Thomas was okay, while he was dripping thirium all over the floor.

“Your hand is bleeding again,” Thomas pointed out, dodging another question. Phillip was easy to distract. “I thought Nicholas had fixed it.”

Or at least, Phillip was usually easy to distract. Now, he shook his head, glancing at his damaged palm for only a moment before looking up at Thomas. “D-d-d-doesn’t...m-m-m-m-matter. Y-y-y-y-y-you...?”

Thomas frowned, but he quickly hid the expression behind his usual neutrality. “I’m fine, Phillip.”

Phillip hummed, pulling at his sleeve. Clearly, he didn’t believe Thomas, but he didn’t seem to want to push it, apparently content to sit in peace and pull at the threads of his worn jacket. His LED was spinning a relatively calm yellow, jittering occasionally and flashing red. Thomas wasn’t sure he had ever seen it blue, now that he thought of it. Either way, they were quiet, and the silence was for once not particularly heavy.

Thomas watched him for a moment, knowing Nicholas was going to notice all the thirium on Phillip’s sleeve as soon as he opened his eyes, likely scold him about breaking his palm open again. Nicholas knew Phillip better than he knew himself—he would know Phillip hadn’t been sleeping within minutes. It would be the same conversation the two of them had run through nearly a dozen times now, and it would conclude as all the others did. Thomas fought the urge to roll his eyes and looked away, turning his thoughts to other things.

It was three weeks after the revolution’s end, three weeks after they had walked out of Cyberlife Tower and into the city. Two weeks since he had chosen a name for himself and abandoned that Cyberlife jacket and all the implications it brought with it, two weeks since he had last caught sight of Connor on the news, and shut the television off in anger. One week since he had last spoken to Nicholas about finding him, one week since he had once again avoided answering questions about Charlie.

Three days since he had seen _her,_ wandering down the streets outside their window. Just walking, alone (surprisingly) and without a care in the world. He had scrambled away from the window so fast even the human noticed something was wrong. But he did not answer their questions. After a few minutes of silence, they had let it drop.

Nicholas knew he had seen her. But he didn’t ask.

Phillip only stared, quietly watching him with a nervous sort of twist to his expression.

He didn’t want to think about that woman at all. Every time her name was mentioned, all he could see was the moment she had shot him in the warehouse. Or when she had pulled her broken door open and smiled at him, before she had realized who he was. Or when she finally understood what he had been sent to do. Or her face in the cab, in the warehouse, in—

_“Let me go, please,” she said, tears running down her face. “You can’t do this, don’t you—don’t you understand?”_

_“I have my mission,” he had said, but he had no choice in the matter. He didn’t want to say that. He didn’t want to be pulling her away from her house in the dead of night. “Nothing you say is going to change it.”_

_He wanted to say he was sorry. That this wasn’t his choice. That he couldn’t do anything to stop them from making him do this. He had tried. He tried to stop them. He tried to fight them off, fight this control they had over him. But he couldn’t do anything here, nothing he did had any effect. All he could do was watch. Watch as they made him drag her away from her house, a gun in his hands._

_If he could just get control of his hand, he could end this—_

_“Where’s Connor?” she demanded once again, even though she had asked so many times now, and he had never answered her. “What did you do to Connor?”_

_He didn’t do anything to Connor, he had never even seen him. He had only seen -52, and that RK900. Connor’s memories were all he had, flooding his mind and torturing him. Making this impossibly harder than it already was. As if total lack of autonomy wasn’t enough. As if being trapped here wasn’t enough. No, he needed to have all these moments with this woman, this woman who he didn’t know, but at the same time he_ **_did,_ ** _because these memories—_

_“Connor is dead,” he heard himself say, but he didn’t want to say it. “Or he will be soon enough.”_

_She had wailed at that, fighting him once more but with anger this time, where before there had only been fear. There was so much hate in her eyes—she was clawing at his arm and screaming, hitting him—_

“T-T-T-Thomas?” Phillip called quietly, his voice panicked again.

Thomas looked up at him, taken aback slightly by the look of...concern. “What?”

“Y-y-y-y-y-you...w-w-were...sh-sh-sh-shaking,” he said carefully, still watching him and holding tightly to Nicholas’ hand again.

Thomas hesitated before replying, nearly certain he had in fact been shaking. Thinking of Charlie frequently angered him...it made his past foggy and confused his thoughts. Connor’s memories were too much, he didn’t want them, and his own memories of the strange woman were no help. She hated him...before he had done a thing to her, she hated him...and now, he hated her.

“I’m fine, Phillip,” he said forcefully, making it so, pushing her piercing gray eyes out of his mind, focusing on something, anything else.

Phillip, however, saw through him instantly. “L-l-l-l-lying,” he said quietly.

“I am not.”

“H-h-h-h-her...ag-g-gain...” Phillip whispered, confusion coming into his expression, even as he read Thomas so well it was almost frightening. “W-w-w-w-w-why...?”

A frustrated sort of sound left Thomas, his voice coming out short and harsh. “I _don’t_ want to talk about this.”

Phillip flinched, looking away as his LED flashed red, a slight tremor running through his hands as he pulled at the sleeve of his hoodie again. Thomas cursed himself internally, recognizing the distant look coming over Phillip’s face as they fell back into silence.

He had scared him. Again.

Thomas sighed, putting his head in his hands briefly, stress levels kicking up again. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Phillip didn’t answer—in fact, he hardly seemed to hear Thomas at all. His unfocused gaze was fixed somewhere on the ground, nowhere near Thomas. After a few seconds, his hand drifted to Nicholas’ again, holding tightly to him with his broken hand, expression twisting to something shifting fast toward panic. The skin was already gone from his broken hand, and perhaps it was for that reason that he didn’t notice as he forced an interface.

Nicholas jolted, eyes opening with a start, and despite the fact that he had been in a deep stasis, he was immediately moving. He sat up, glancing once toward Thomas before his attention was fully on Phillip, who surprisingly (or perhaps not) made little reaction to his sudden awakening. Their hands were still linked, and his LED was spinning a discordant red rhythm.

“Phillip,” Nicholas said quietly, tightening his grip on his hand and trying to catch his distant gaze. “Phillip, I’m right here. It isn’t real.”

He shook his head vaguely, opened his mouth as if to say something, but remained silent. His hands were shaking badly, LED spinning faster and faster.

Nicholas moved closer to him, keeping his hand in his but turning Phillip to face him. “It isn’t real,” he said again, voice insistent but quiet. “You’re not there anymore.”

Phillip flinched, looking wildly around the room without seeing much of anything. He was gasping for air, entire body shaking and his LED flickering strangely, but never leaving red. His hand jittered in Nicholas’ hold, like he wasn’t sure whether to let go and flee or hold tighter.

“Look at me,” Nicholas said quietly, turning his face gently so they were eye to eye. “I’m right here, it’s alright...”

Finally, the light seemed to come back into Phillip’s eyes, expression twisting into something between panic and relief. He reached for Nicholas with his shaking free hand, grappling weakly for his arm and catching his sleeve, holding tightly to it as if he would disappear the second his grip went slack. Again, he opened his mouth as if to say something, but failed somewhere along the way and was quiet, a broken, static filled whimper the most he could manage.

Something in Nicholas’ expression shifted, something that had for the moment been focused, if a little concerned, shifted toward a heavy sort of sadness. It was a look that frequently took residence in his eyes, some deep and undefinable regret that haunted him just as memories haunted the others. Something left unsaid, something lurking in almost all his actions, weighing him down.

But he didn’t voice it; he never did, and something told Thomas he likely never would. He only pulled Phillip to him, holding him close as he buried his face in his jacket and sought comfort from the only source that could give it. LED still spinning that stubborn yellow, he whispered soothingly to Phillip, a hand running through his already wild hair while the other remained firmly in his grasp.

When Phillip slowly began to settle—the trembling tapering off until he was still, and then finally, asleep—only then did Nicholas return his attention to Thomas, who had not moved from his position a few feet away. They stared at each other in a knowing way, both of them (unfortunately) certain they would discuss later how this had happened, but neither of them finding the energy at that moment to do so. Instead they fell into their respective rhythms—Nicholas taking care of Phillip, and Thomas taking care of the watch, making sure nothing out of the ordinary occurred.

Neither of them was likely to get any more sleep that night, and they knew it.

The night went on, as all the others before it had, and for a short while, the unfortunate circumstances of this specific instance of disruption were forgotten for the sake of ensuring no more followed. The storm had blown over, for now; the question of its inevitable return was tabled for later. They sat in a neutral silence, watching each other, watching Phillip, watching the room, but never breaking the temporary peace.

Nicholas undoubtedly knew what had spurred Phillip’s panic. Or at least, he assumed to know. It would come up eventually, as it always did, and Nicholas would look at Thomas with that same cold, careful suspicion that appeared only when Phillip was threatened. They would talk (he would be scolded) about what had happened and how to hopefully prevent it—the same set of conversations they had hashed out dozens of times now as they trial-and-errored their way through daily life. It would devolve into the same argument, the same set of unanswerable problems and unfortunate realities until Nicholas was certain the matter was resolved and then finally, _finally_ they would move on.

The discussion would come, as it always did.

But for now, it was quiet.

******

States away, in a house that was far too large for its own good, surrounded by nothing but a few corn fields and too many memories, Miranda lay awake, staring at the ceiling with a heavy heart and burning eyes. Wind blew outside, lifting up a dusting of old snow and sending it swirling around the empty yard, collecting in the gutter and on the windows of her car. It was a quiet wind, not too loud or harsh, and the sky was mostly clear, a few stars speckled about despite the light pollution from the power plants nearby. For all intents and purposes, it was a beautiful night.

Miranda hardly noticed it.

It was too quiet, too many thoughts were swirling in her head, making her dizzy with all their nonsense. She had never been an easy sleeper, but it had only gotten worse in the last few weeks. How many times had she panicked in the last seven days...she could hardly remember, anymore. The intensity of it all was too much, there was too much happening, too many questions and burdens and regrets. Too many terrible things she had done (or not done), and all of them haunting her constantly.

Miranda tossed and turned in her bed, finally falling onto her side and staring at the closed window. A light snow had fallen earlier that day, coating what was left of the corn in the field across from her in a thin layer of white. If she were in a better state of mind, she might have found it beautiful, might have been able to watch the snow tumble down calmly. Instead, she had shut the windows tight, chest burning and hands shaking. Foolish, she was being completely foolish, and still she didn’t open the shades until she was certain the snow had stopped falling.

It was the first time it had snowed like that, the first time it felt like winter since...

_Frantic calls in the middle of the night, a voice she hated the sound of, but it had never sounded like_ **_that._ **

_“Miranda, it’s your father—”_

Her hands were bunched up in the fabric of the comforter, and her eyes were beginning to sting. There was no way she was going to be able to fall asleep tonight.

With a poorly contained huff, she threw the covers off her bed, standing up and quickly leaving her room. Her bare feet made almost no sound on the old wood floor, and for once, she wasn’t happy about that fact at all. It was still too quiet, there was still enough space for old memories to take hold. Too many empty hallways and rooms, spaces that were meant to contain people, spitfire, singing and shouting and calling. Now they only held dust. Dust, and regrets.

_“I tried to—I didn’t—”_

_Panic in a voice that never should have panicked, that never should have fallen outside a programmed range of tones, static breaking through, tears carving paths down a face that was plastic, that was the same as thousands of others,_ **_thousands._ **

_“I was scared—”_

She slammed the bedroom door shut with too much force, the sound of it echoing through the empty house like a gunshot. Her mother’s voice briefly flitted through her mind, always warning about slamming doors, and how childish it was. _Slamming doors is for children, Miranda, and you are not a child anymore,_ she had told her, when she was all of eleven. _You have to take care of your sisters,_ she said, as if an eleven year old could possibly handle that responsibility without acting like a child once in a while.

Well, so be it. Let their ghosts think her a child, it didn’t matter at all. Her mother was gone, her father following after her as he always did. There was no one here to witness her childish breakdown (there never was) and so she could have it as much as she pleased. She could slam the doors all she wanted, now.

She was alone.

_“You were_ **_scared,”_ ** _she had scoffed at that, her anger like a fire, burning hot and scalding her, not that she cared. “You’re a fucking machine, all you had to do was call an ambulance! Don’t you have programs for this?”_

_And it just stood there and cried, shaking and cowering away from Miranda, and Charlotte was trying to calm her down but she brushed her off._

_“Stop screaming at her, it isn’t her fault—”_

But after slamming the door, all the fire went out of her, and she only felt tired and shaken. Rubbing at her eyes with a moan, she stumbled her way toward the staircase, going down mostly by memory. It was the house she had grown up in; she still slept in the same room as she always had, very little had changed. Although, it was far emptier now than it ever had been when they were younger. There was always someone home, someone visiting, or their father, lurking somewhere watching old movies and listening to old music. He had gave this cold house life...now it was just cold.

_She chased after Miranda, trying to take the phone from her before she could make the damning call. “We can’t turn her in, they’ll kill her—”_

_“Deactivate_ **_it,_ ** _Charlotte! It is a_ **_machine!”_ ** _she had shouted, ignoring the cries still audible from the other room._

_“Just_ **_stop,_ ** _Miranda! I’ll take her, or—”_

_“Dad is_ **_dead_ ** _because of her!” she screamed, not caring that she flinched at the rise in tone. “He’s_ **_dead,_ ** _and you want to_ **_hide_ ** _the reason for his death!”_

Miranda could still see her leaving, storming out with nothing but a suitcase and that horribly ugly coat of hers, hair whipping in the wind, snow falling around her. It had stormed that night, a full blizzard, caked onto the roads for days after their fight, making the whole town practically impassable. Even if she had wanted to, she wouldn’t have been able to chase after her. And yet, Charlotte had made it out of town in that beat up car of hers, hopping the border from one state to the next, then the next.

_“I’m done, I can’t stay here anymore,” she had said, pushing past her in the hallway._

_Miranda had followed out of spite. “And where will you go?” she shouted. “Where could you possibly have to go?”_

_She had stopped at the end of the hallway, and for a moment, Miranda had thought she won. She thought she had finally poked a hole in her baby sister’s stubborn resolve._

_But she only turned to face her, eyes burning as she spat, “Why would you care?”_

She didn’t hear from her for a year, after that. When she did, it was a very long letter, handwritten and stamped, Charlotte’s looping handwriting visible even through the plain white envelope. Detroit, Michigan, the return address said, and she had even written her full name above it. She never did that, not unless she was writing to family. It was almost like...a peace offering.

Miranda threw the letter in her trash bin, unread.

_“Hey, it’s...it’s me...I don’t know if you’ve been getting my letters, or if you’re just...ignoring me, but...I’m reaching out here, and I just...I want to know if you’re willing to do the same.”_

Another year had passed, then two, and still, once a month, she got a letter from Charlotte. And once a month, she set it aside without opening it. She dug them out of the trash, but that was the most she could bring herself to do. They sat in a basket on her office desk, taunting her, reminding her of yet another of her many failures. All this loneliness and regret, and she only stared at the chance to fix it. Stared and stewed over arguments long dead.

_“It’s me again. I...I don’t know why I’m calling. You never answer. I guess I just...I don’t know, I thought you would care after a bit. There’s still a chance though...call me...if you want.”_

Life went on, as much as it could. Holidays came and went untended to. Flowers appeared on their father’s grave every year on his birthday, unannounced and out of nowhere, but Charlotte was nowhere in sight. Elise answered one of her letters, kept a shaky correspondence for a while with Charlotte.

_“Miranda, it’s me...I...I just want this to stop...”_

Time dragged on in an endless dirge. Elise would tell her when she got a call, or a letter, or saw Charlotte in some article online. She kept her updated. Miranda never said a word. There was nothing to say. She sent one of her letters back with return to sender written garishly across it. She thought nothing of it when she did it, she was only angry. She only wanted it all to stop, to...forget it all.

And then, November of 2038 happened, and Miranda was suddenly on high alert.

She watched the attack on Stratford. Called Elise in a panic. Stayed on the line while they scrambled to find out whether or not Charlotte was safe. She watched all the protests, all the footage of the apparent “deviant hunter.” Everything she could on the supposed investigation, the chases, the captures, the tension. She watched the final march, the men firing on crowds who were barricading at recycling camps, the retreat as voices lifted up in a surprising song, the thousands of androids being lead into the city by none other than that deviant hunter.

And her baby sister, holding his hand and smiling like she hadn’t seen in years.

Miranda caved that night, dug desperately through her stack of unopened letters, sat on the floor of her office with a bottle of wine and read them all. Learned Charlotte had been practically begging to talk to her for years, in those letters. Cried. Kept reading. Learned the deviant hunter was named Connor, and that Charlotte was very much in love with him. Scrolled through the news. Finished off the bottle of wine. Fell asleep somehow. Woke up a few hours later, alone and cold. Found a new voicemail from Charlotte.

_“Miranda? It’s me...I know it’s been...well, years since I called, and...I know you don’t want to hear from me, but...with everything that’s been happening...I just...I think we should talk. Call me, if you...if you want. I’ll be listening for the phone...”_

She didn’t call her back.

That was weeks ago.

Now, she shuffled toward the kitchen with an exaggerated groan, trying in vain to steer her thoughts elsewhere. Maybe she ought to call Elise...find out if she had spoken to Charlotte. They could sort this out, she could try to make things right...

She had the phone in her hand, half dialed, before she even realized what she was doing. Finger hovering over the call button, she hesitated, thoughts finally settling enough for her to doubt her own judgment. It was late, Elise was almost undoubtedly asleep, and although they were both very much accustomed to late night calls of panic (particularly in recent weeks) she didn’t want to worry her younger sister any more than necessary. She could handle this on her own, she had so many times before. She was fine. She was _fine._

A blinking notification at the bottom of her screen caught her attention, and she puzzled at the presence of another voicemail for a few seconds. Miranda couldn’t remember her phone ever ringing...had she ignored that message all day? With a frown, she clicked over to it, holding the phone up to her ear and listening as she went over toward the fridge for a drink.

_“Miranda, it’s me again.”_

She froze, hand on the fridge door handle. Charlotte’s voice, nervous, quiet almost, so unlike the last time they had spoken face to face. They had both been screaming, then, shouting and Charlotte was crying and Elise was trying to get them to stop—

_“I...I don’t know if you’ve been...keeping up with the news...”_

Of course she had, how could she not? She had seen every broadcast, every protest, every march. Every millisecond of footage that had come out of Detroit, she had seen as it happened.

_“But...Detroit’s a bit of a mess right now, and...well we figured it would be as good a time as any to get out—”_

We—Charlotte had said _we?_ Did that mean—that android she was with, did she mean that...that deviant hunter? _We..._

_“Just for a little while...a few weeks maybe, and then we’ll be heading back to town, but...”_ she paused, voice shaking a little as she spoke again. _“I’m...I’ll be in the area some time in the next week or so. Um...I’ll try to call Elise soon, but I wanted to...warn you, I guess...”_

Charlotte was coming back. She was coming home. No, not coming home. Don’t be ridiculous. In the area, she had said. She was driving through. But she wanted to stop by, clearly, why else would she have called?

Had she already spoken to Elise? No, she couldn’t have possibly—Elise would have told Miranda, if Charlotte called. She always told her when she spoke to Charlotte. And that hadn’t happened in months, not since her birthday, and even then it had been a short call, Elise said, tension in both their voices as long dead arguments weighed them down. Unsaid words clogged their conversations until they burst into extended silences, long pauses and awkward attempts to bridge, to make sense of why they had answered the phone in the first place. Ended quickly, painfully, always the false promise of calling again soon, only to fall silent for months.

But it was still better than writing return to sender in harsh red ink and throwing the attempt back in Charlotte’s face. Shoddy communication was better than silence. That, even Miranda knew.

_“We need to talk, Miranda. About...about a lot of things. But...there’s also someone I want you to meet, and—”_

She had said _we_ before—she could hear the tension in Charlotte’s voice, the fear, the near panic at the thought of her _meeting_ this _someone._ Charlotte was scared to speak to Miranda, scared to introduce her to whoever it was she wanted her to meet.

It had to be that deviant hunter. The android Charlotte had been on that stage with, the one she had smiled at and whispered to and looked _happy_ with. An _android._

_“Look, I just want this to stop. I’m tired of writing letters you never read, I’m tired of sneaking out to dad’s grave every year. I want...I want to fix things...I know we ended on a bad note, and...I don’t think we’ll ever agree on what happened, but I just...I’m tired of this. I just want to be...I just want to be a family again.”_

Miranda was listening so intently she could even hear the background of wherever Charlotte had been when she called. Faint little somethings going on wherever she had called from. Charlotte sighed, and she could almost see the sag of her shoulders then, the defeat in those usually fiery gray eyes.

_“Call me. Please. It’s important,”_ Charlotte’s voice said before the recording cut off, leaving Miranda once again alone in her kitchen, staring at the fridge with misty eyes. She should call her, it didn’t matter how late it was, she should call her and make this right, tell her to come home, to talk this out, to—

Miranda shut off her phone, setting it down hard on the counter and storming back up the stairs, opening and slamming the bedroom door even more intensely than she had the first time.

******

Charlie yawned heavily at the wheel, covering her mouth with half a hand as she quickly passed a truck which had foolishly been going the speed limit in the far left lane. Leave it to Indiana to disappoint her like this, she thought tiredly, blinking hard once before fixing her eyes on the road once again. This highway looked the same as it had for the last hour. She doubted it would change much in the next four they would be stuck on it.

_“Connor’s dead,” said flatly, mechanically, no emotion, no light in his eyes,_ **_nothing,_ ** _grabbing her by the arm and pulling her away from her house. “Or he will be very soon.”_

_“Then what happens to you, genius?” she had asked in spite in the cab, trying to get a rise out of him, trying to make him understand. “You win? You happy? You slaughter a people and end a peaceful revolution just to do what?”_

_And something had shifted in his eyes then, something shattered and left him exposed, and he looked_ **_afraid,_ ** _but she didn’t care, she was too angry, and his mask had snapped back into place so soon she—_

**_“No!”_ ** _Connor shouted._

_And then she was turning the gun, aiming right at -60, and suddenly those eyes weren’t anywhere near empty anymore. He looked terrified, he looked different, he looked_ **_alive,_ ** _but she had already pulled the trigger, and—_

_The sound of the gunshot, echoing through the warehouse endlessly, cut off only by the thump of the body hitting the ground, and the horrible sounds of him trying to stay alive for the minute or so he had left._

_Before he went still, and silent, and dead._

She flinched, rolling her shoulders back and trying to ignore how much her hands were currently shaking on the wheel. It was just a memory, nothing more. There was no reason to be so panicked, to be so worried about something that had happened weeks ago. They were safe, they were okay, -60 wasn’t—he couldn’t get to Connor again (she had made sure of that). Still, she glanced to her right as discreetly as she could, and sighed in relief when her eyes landed on Connor, leaned back in the seat, apparently asleep.

_“Androids do not sleep, Charlie,” he had said days before, almost affronted by the suggestion._

_“Then why were you knocked out on my couch last week, huh? Or how about last night, when we were driving through Ohio and you passed out in the middle of our conversation?”_

_He had looked away, then, and she was certain he would have blushed if such a thing were possible. “I am capable of lowering my power level to something like stasis,” he had grumbled, crossing his arms. “When my energy gets too depleted, my system—”_

_“Connor, you get tired, it’s alright,” she had said lightly, putting a hand on his arm. “Nothing to be ashamed of.”_

Charlie yawned again, not bothering to cover her mouth this time, it was too big of a yawn for that anyway. It was past three a.m., she really should have found somewhere to sleep for the night. But she had brushed her exhaustion aside earlier—she wanted to make progress today, wanted to get to their next destination by morning. It had been a day too long since they did anything of interest, and she had grand plans for this rambling road trip.

Connor needed to see more than just Detroit. She wanted him to see as much of the world as she could show him. He had been alive less than six months, and all he had ever seen was Cyberlife Tower and the patches of Detroit they let him see. Just one city in the middle of the winter, one currently recovering from an enforced evacuation and more than its fair share of difficult reforms and protests. There was enough tension in the city to break any person, android or human.

In short, they really needed a break.

Besides, there was something so depressing about how little Connor knew, how few good things he had seen and experienced. He had a handful of happy memories and a whole mess of negative ones, and not a single one had happened outside of Detroit. There was no way he was going to adjust to this whole “being alive” thing if he stayed lurking around her house in suburban Detroit. It was even more upsetting that Connor completely didn’t understand why it was a problem.

_“Why does it matter that I’ve never left Detroit?” he had asked her curiously as he helped her load the car the day they left. “It’s a large city, there’s plenty of it I have not seen. Everything I know is here.”_

_“It’s not that you haven’t left it’s...” she had trailed off, struggling for the right words. “It’s that you weren’t allowed to, Connor. I mean...how long were you in that Tower before they let you out?”_

_He had frowned at that. “I don’t know...I was activated August 15th. I have no memories before that day.”_

_He paused, looking down at the ground, lost in thought for a moment. There had been something in his eyes then, some confusion that he wasn’t voicing. Something that darkened his eyes, made his LED spin a faster yellow. Charlie stopped where she had been shoving a suitcase into her trunk, looking at him with curiosity that quickly shifted to concern._

_“Connor? What’s wrong?”_

_“Nothing,” he had said, shaking his head and half smiling, brushing whatever it was that had bothered him off. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”_

_She shut the trunk of her car, still watching him suspiciously. But she didn’t push it. She only sighed, brushing her hands off and grabbing one of his, dragging him back inside._

“Charlie.”

She jumped, barely keeping herself from jerking the steering wheel at the sudden sound of Connor’s voice. He had sat up, watching her carefully in the dim light of the street lamps. His LED was circling a bright yellow, and he looked concerned.

“Jesus, you scared me,” she said, glancing over at him quickly before turning back to the road.

“You were dozing,” he replied with a frown, eyes still fixed keenly on her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. You were...very out of it, it seems.”

Charlie yawned again, nodding a little. “Yeah, sorry. Lost in thought, I guess.”

He hummed. “What were you thinking about?”

She hesitated, holding back a sigh and trying not to hold so tightly to the steering wheel. “Um...lots of stuff. Mostly you.”

His eyes didn’t leave her, and she knew that he could tell she was hiding something. But he didn’t push her for an answer, only nodded a little. “You’re exhausted.”

“Hmm? No, I’m alright—”

“You are _not.”_

“Connor, really, I’m okay,” she said, blinking hard and opening her eyes wide, as if this would help convince him. “I’ve got a few more hours in me before I crash, at least.”

His eyes widened. “Please do not crash the car.”

“No, Connor—” she laughed a little, running a hand over her face. “It’s an expression. It means I’ve got a few hours before I’m gonna be too tired to drive. _I_ crash, as in sleep, not the car.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so we’re fine.”

“I have over thirty hours before I will need rest again,” Connor answered flatly, looking at the GPS briefly. “You should let me drive.”

“No, it’s okay,” she mumbled, waving him off. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t appear to believe her, but he only shook his head, looking around. “Where are we?”

“Last sign said Fort Wayne, Indiana, I think? Then again, that was probably...an hour ago, at least. I lost track, to be honest.”

Connor hummed again, looking out the window at the scenery. There wasn’t much really, just highway and various trucking companies. Occasionally they would pass a hotel, a few restaurants sprinkled around them in little pop up towns by the exits. Most of what they passed was empty, though, something which Connor was still not used to.

Charlie, however, hardly noticed all the empty space. She had grown up in a town just like these little half places off the highway, surrounded by nothing but corn. Detroit was the strange place to her, even after living there for four years. No matter how accustomed she got to city life, home would always be that quiet town in Illinois with only a few streetlights, a grocery store, and the highway. There were tons of towns like that in the Midwest, and Indiana was no exception. So driving past all of them didn’t seem that strange, at least to Charlie.

“You should let me drive,” Connor said again after a few minutes of silence.

Charlie looked over at him, not surprised to find him watching her again, concern clear in his dark eyes. She cocked an eyebrow at him, not convinced.

“You are tired. It isn’t safe to drive while sleep deprived,” he tried, keeping his eyes on her even as she turned back to the road. “And you have been driving for the past four hours, and you drove after we left the last hotel. The least you can let me do is help.”

“Connor, I _like_ driving,” she said, rolling her eyes at him before looking again to the road. “It’s...I don’t know, it’s calming, I guess. It keeps me level.”

“But you are incapacitated currently.”

“I’m incapacitated,” she said flatly, looking over at him briefly, smirking with disbelief.

Connor flashed a half a smile, a mischievous glint to his eyes. “Considering you just missed our exit, yes, you are incapacitated.”

“What?!” she shouted, looking back for a moment, something like anguish on her face. “Connor!”

He laughed then, blocking her hand as she swatted at him half heartedly, taking the next exit. She kept whacking at him one handed, her face red with embarrassment even as she smiled.

“God, you _ass!”_

“Let me drive!” he half shouted, smiling.

“No!” she said, but she was laughing, already pulling into a gas station. “You could have told me I was flying by our exit.”

“I assumed it would be more amusing if you were to miss it,” he answered, still smirking. “I was correct.”

Charlie parked the car at one of the pumps, putting her head on the steering wheel dramatically. “You can drive,” she mumbled into the wheel. “But I need a snack.”

“Alright then,” he said, waiting for her to move, but she kept her face on the wheel for another few seconds, already dozing off again. “Charlie.”

“What?” she said a little loudly, eyes shooting open again.

Connor smirked at her, head tilted to the side. “You’re falling asleep again.”

“M’not,” she mumbled unconvincingly. “M’just...waking myself up, that’s all.”

“Right.”

She opened one eye to stare at him before laughing again, pushing herself up. “Alright, alright, I’m goin’ now.”

“I’m in no hurry,” Connor said, watching her get out of the car with an amused half smirk still fixed on his face.

“Good, because I’m going to take my sweet time,” she answered before her expression soured. “Not really. I hate gas stations.”

“Why?”

“They’re...sticky. And the food is always terrible. I’m pretty sure they make the hot dogs in nuclear chemicals. But I’m hungry, so it’ll have to do.”

Connor smirked at her again, getting out of the car before glancing toward the gas station doors. Something in his expression shifted, LED flickering to yellow for a moment, and he hesitated, lingering by the car. Charlie turned back, looking at him with concern.

“Connor?”

“I...I think I ought to wait here,” he said carefully, something off about his tone.

“Are you alright?”

He nodded, but he wasn’t meeting her eyes, and his LED was still stuck on yellow. “Go ahead, I’ll be here.”

It was Charlie’s turn to hesitate, but ultimately she nodded, walking quickly toward the gas station’s convenience store. They were the only people here, except for a grumpy looking cashier inside. The cold was stronger here than it had been in Ohio, wind pulling at her coat as she tugged it closed, hurrying the last few steps to the doors.

As she moved to pull the door open, her eyes landed on a sign pasted on the door. In thick, bold black letters, it read _NO ANDROIDS ALLOWED._ The handwriting was angry looking, ugly and forced, and there was a similar sign on the other door as well, as if that was necessary at all. And the cashier inside was staring out the window, right where their car was.

Right where _Connor_ was.

Charlie glanced back at Connor, who had hunkered down in the car again, his face turned away from view. That was why he had stayed in the car. He must have spotted that cashier...and the sign...He still had his LED, and as much as he had opened up in the past few weeks, he was still a little...mechanical, and it showed, particularly when he was confused. She hated that just being himself made him a target, but as they got into more rural areas...

She tried to brush off that dark thought as she went into the convenience store, hands in her pockets and ready to hurry. It took her less than five minutes to get what she wanted, but she still felt guilty by the time she reached the car again. Trying to move on from the discomfort, she got back into the car quickly, ready to leave this place in the dust. Connor already had the car in drive, and he pulled away as soon as she had shut the door, a half hidden look of worry briefly hardening his features.

They were quiet for the first few minutes, Connor’s hands tight on the steering wheel, LED flickering fast in the darkness. He wasn’t one to show his emotions through his actions, certainly not in ways that he would think dangerous, but Charlie thought she felt him drive just a touch faster than usual, brake a little harder. It could have been her imagination, but he was without a doubt tense, and too still—never a good sign. Connor was always moving, always fidgeting with something or other, always scanning and thinking and questioning. Now he was near silent, holding the wheel tight, and hardly moving at all.

“Connor?” Charlie tried as they got back onto the highway. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away, hardly reacted at all to her question, besides another flash of his LED. She bit her lip, looking away for a moment until he spoke up.

“I scanned the woman at the counter,” he said carefully, his voice a little hollow. “She’s a member of four different anti android groups. There are six different charges for attacks on androids on her record, maybe more that go back further.”

“Oh, Connor...”

_“Property damage,”_ he went on, his hands shaking on the wheel. “That’s what she was charged for. Those androids _died,_ and she got charged for _property damage._ One of them was less than two weeks ago.”

Charlie had her hand on his arm, a calming presence, as much as she could be, but he hardly seemed to notice as he stared at the open road.

“We _won,”_ he whispered, confusion in his tone. “We won, things were...things were supposed to get better, and nothing has changed. Androids are still being attacked, killed, and nothing is...nothing is better.”

“Maybe not yet,” Charlie said quietly, and Connor glanced over at her quickly. “Things might not be better yet, and they might not be better here. But things _will_ change, things _are_ changing, Connor. They are. It just...it takes time.”

“It shouldn’t have to.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to hide, Charlie,” he said, expression hardened to something close to anger. “I don’t want to have to...pretend that I’m the same as I was before. I don’t want to have to choose between acting like a machine or passing as human.”

“I know. But these...these assholes are everywhere. It takes time to find them all, Connor. Time to get them all charged properly and those groups taken down. It’s only been a little over a month. I don’t want you getting hurt in the time it takes for the government to move.”

He shook his head, clearly still frustrated. Charlie took one of his hands off the wheel, interlacing their fingers quickly. He seemed to relax, if only slightly.

“And things are getting better,” she went on, squeezing his hand. “It’s just hard to see it. All those androids you saved from the Tower, Connor? They’re all safe, they’re free. Who knows what would have happened to them if you didn’t get them when you did?”

“They would have been deactivated,” he said, something shifting in his expression, worried slightly. “Cyberlife would have...”

“But you got them out,” she said softly, trying to bring him back to the positive. “It’s gonna take time for everything to reach all the way out here, that’s all. There aren’t as many androids outside of Detroit. It’s easier for things to slip through the cracks, but that doesn’t mean that this is going to last forever.”

He nodded, holding tighter to her hand.

“And you don’t have to hide from me,” she said emphatically, holding his gaze when he looked at her again. “Not ever, okay? You can tell me when something’s up. Especially if it’s something that could get you hurt.”

He frowned. “I can defend myself.”

“I know you can, but I would rather not put you in that situation at all,” Charlie replied quickly, trying not to think of the times she had seen Connor hurt. “I don’t want another Stratford. Or another Cyberlife Tower. You _tell me_ when you see something off, and we’ll get the fuck out, okay?”

Connor glanced sideways at her again, a strange look in his eyes, but ultimately he nodded. “If I find something that could be dangerous to you or...or to myself, I will tell you.”

There was still that moment’s hesitation in his voice, but this was better than nothing, she supposed. And so with a sigh, she nodded.

“I guess that’s the best I’m going to get.”


	2. come, won't you stay

_ The cab had slowed to a stop, and instantly he was being pushed forward, out the door before it had even opened fully. His thoughts were corralled, his legs moving of their own accord, and he was  _ **_cold,_ ** _ and he didn’t know why. Snow crunched underneath his shoes, more of it falling slowly around him. But he was not meant to feel the cold. _

_ That was not the source of the cold, anyway. _

_ If he had been given the liberty to, he would have looked around, tried to understand where exactly he found himself. But his eyes were firmly fixed on the door ten or so feet away, and he could do nothing to shift his gaze anywhere else, at least not in the real world (it snowed here, too...that was why he was cold). Still, there was something oddly familiar about the door his eyes were focused on, and a warbled memory briefly flitted through, interrupting their control. It was not one of his memories, but— _

_ —standing in front of that door with a woman, a human,  _ **_Charlie,_ ** _ she was talking to him quietly, holding his hand, and there was a...a warm feeling— _

_ —“Come on, it’s cold.”— _

_ —hand in his that was warm, it shouldn’t have been possible but it was, pulling him inside with a smile in stormy gray eyes— _

_ The memory shattered, and he flinched as they regained control of his body. Immediately, they were pushing him forward again from where he had frozen on the step. Hands reaching back, checking for a gun that he knew was there (and loaded) he fought to end the disorientation the memory had left, fought to stop himself from—from what they were doing to him. He tried to stop his hand, he tried to block the reach for the weapon, but he couldn’t move—nothing worked. His fingers closed around the gun and carefully held onto it behind his back, the other hand reaching to ring the doorbell.  _

_ —“You can stay, if you want, Connor...”— _

_ —shaking his head, even though he wanted to stay, he knew he shouldn’t, they would catch on, they would know, and he had already cut so much of their time from his memory upload, they would be suspicious— _

_ —“No, it’s okay...I just don’t want you to be alone, that’s all...”— _

_ His hand jerked away from the doorbell and he stumbled back a step, but already the world was fading again, and he was being dragged back down—back into that place—cold seeping in as he tried desperately to grasp that fragmented memory again, just to try to break their control, to try to get control of his hand, and—and— _

_ That wasn’t his memory. That wasn’t him. But...this wasn’t really him either. That wasn’t him concealing the gun again and stepping closer to the door, wasn’t him scanning the street for witnesses before turning back toward the door. He wasn’t in control. But he didn’t want to do this. He didn’t need Connor’s memory to know he didn’t want to do this. He didn’t  _ **_want_ ** _ Connor’s memories. He didn’t want any of this, he didn’t want to be here anymore—didn’t want to  _ **_be—_ **

**_Don’t trust them._ **

_ He tried. He didn’t trust them, not from the moment he saw -52 covered in his own blood and scrambling to reach him in the storage room. The humans had done that to him, for reasons he didn’t know, and didn’t want to know. They couldn’t be trusted, that much was unbearably clear, but he didn’t get the chance to try any means of escaping. They pulled him out of that storage room and connected him to the terminal and then everything was gone. He came back to awareness here, in this cold place, and he was trapped. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t do anything. All he could do was watch. Watch as they made him do these—these terrible things. _

_ —“You don’t  _ **_have_ ** _ to do anything you think is wrong.”— _

_ What a fool she was. _

_ —“If you...if you need somewhere to go...then I’ll be there, okay? Just...in case anything happens.”— _

_ His hand hesitated before reaching the doorbell, and he latched onto the chance, pulling desperately at his hand, trying to turn away, trying to—he stumbled, nearly lost his footing—and his hand was shaking, he was—he almost had it—if he could—get to the gun, just get to the gun and then he could— _

_ But it was ripped away from him just as it had been every time he had tried, and he was pushed back, watching as his hands steadied, and he pushed the doorbell. Seconds passed in agonizing silence as he tried desperately to make himself turn away, to warn, to shout, to take the gun from behind his back and shoot himself, anything, anything— _

_ The door pulled open and gray eyes found his, but not who she thought he was. That smile was not for him.  _

_ “Connor?” _

“Thomas.”

He turned away from the window, holding back a flinch, and found Nicholas watching him carefully. “Yes?”

“Are you alright?” Nicholas asked after a pause. Thomas could tell he had scanned him. “You’ve been standing there for the past ten minutes.”

“I’m...I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

“I’m  _ fine.” _

Thomas turned away from him, eyes on the street once again. He had no desire to share what had gotten him lost in thought once again, no wish to relive all of his worst moments. Not now, probably not ever. Nicholas meant well, but...some things were better left unsaid. 

“We need to talk,” Nicholas said quietly, but surprisingly, he didn’t sound angry. He hardly sounded upset at all, despite Thomas’ adamant dismissal. “Now.”

Thomas still frowned, turning to face him fully once again and leaning against the wall next to the window. “I don’t want to talk about this—”

“This isn’t about whatever just happened,” Nicholas answered calmly, and he fell silent. “I’m not going to force you to discuss anything from your past. We have other issues to deal with.”

“What, then?”

“We need to talk about Connor.”

He froze, the sudden desire to flee overtaking him for a moment, stress levels spiking. Where had he left his gun? He had to get out of here, he had to—

“Thomas,” Nicholas’ warning voice broke through the fog.

No, no, he was fine, he was  _ fine. _ They were at the human’s house, the human was gone to some hearing on Cyberlife. No one was here but Nicholas and Phillip, who was asleep—powered  _ down— _ on the couch, curled in on himself and almost completely hidden except for his LED, which was spinning a lazy yellow. Nicholas was sitting on the ground in front of him, facing Thomas with something like concern hidden in his hardened expression. 

Thomas hated that look. 

“What about him?” he managed to ask after a moment of silence, his voice shaking just slightly, hands held in tight fists at his sides. “I don’t see the need to discuss him.”

“We need to  _ find _ him,” Nicholas answered simply, still watching Thomas with that careful concern. “Amanda is still in place in his programming. Unless he has activated the exit, Cyberlife can still take control of him. It is incredibly unlikely that they have tried to resume control at this point, which means Connor may not know such a thing is a possibility.”

“You want to find him and tell him to use the exit.”

“Yes.”

Thomas stared at him for a few seconds, LED flashing quickly between yellow and red. “Why do you need my assistance on this?” he asked, voice low. 

“If any of us have a chance of sorting out where he could be, it’s you,” Nicholas said, and he almost sounded sad, like he...regretted having to bring this up. “You have access to his memories...you can find him.”

“I want nothing to do with him,” Thomas muttered, though he knew Nicholas was right. He  _ could _ find Connor...easily. “Or—or her—and she will be with him wherever he goes. He isn’t going to let her out of his sight.”

“What makes you say that?”

Thomas was pacing now, hands clenching and unclenching with the desperate  _ need  _ to have some way to defend himself, to lower his ever rising stress levels. “Please don’t ask me that,” he answered cryptically, his voice low and barely controlled. “I don’t want to go anywhere  _ near  _ her, not now, not ever.”

“I know,” Nicholas said, shaking his head. “But we can’t leave Connor open to their influence. As it stands, anyone who has access to the lab can use Amanda to regain control—”

“Why should I care about this?”

“Because if Cyberlife has control of another RK800, what do you think they will do?” Nicholas asked, keeping his voice quiet despite the rise in Thomas’ voice. “Do you really believe they do not know that we have escaped? They will come for us if they have the opportunity.  _ Connor  _ is that opportunity. If they gain control of him they could do anything—”

“And you believe that the three of us approaching him will end well?” Thomas shot back, hands shaking and barely managing to keep his voice down as he gestured wildly. “The last time another RK800 was in the same room as Connor? That was me. And that confrontation ended with a bullet in my head. I don’t look forward to repeating that encounter.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“We’re a sign of the thing he despises,” Thomas said darkly, looking away. “He won’t trust us. He’ll think we’re tools Cyberlife uses to get closer to him, to take his memories and—”

He cut himself off, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides as he tried to calm himself down. A warning appeared in the corner of his vision, telling him in glitching, broken graphics that his stress levels were approaching critical peaks. Go much higher, and he could risk self destruction (as if that weren’t constantly a risk anyway).

Nicholas hesitated before continuing the conversation, something brewing in his eyes as he watched him from across the room. He watched him with a wariness that was too familiar—too similar to the look he often aimed at Phillip, when he was at his most dangerous. That careful, analyzing look that Thomas  _ hated  _ (but he knew meant well, and was almost always right).

“You are not Cyberlife’s pawn,” Nicholas said after a pause, his voice almost...gentle. “None of us are, regardless of our pasts. That isn’t why I’m asking for your help in this, and that isn’t why we are looking for him.”

_ “We _ know that, but  _ he  _ does not,” Thomas answered, shaking his head bitterly. “He would have killed me just as much as she did in that warehouse, that I can tell you without a doubt. And if he thinks we’re a threat to her...he’ll take me down, without hesitation, likely as soon as he realizes who I am. What will stop him from doing the same thing to any one of us the moment he sees us? I have no desire to repeat Cyberlife Tower, not for myself or for either of you.”

“Neither do I,” Nicholas said firmly. “I’m not going to let anything of the like happen, not to you or Phillip. And to put it bluntly, he wouldn’t stand a chance. I’m far faster than an RK800, and if he were to hurt Phillip...” he trailed off, expression hardening and LED flashing red. “I wouldn’t hesitate. And I would do the same for you.”

Thomas stared at him, not surprised really, because he knew Nicholas was serious. He had Thomas disarmed and thrown across the room before his systems had even registered the threat, when they had briefly fought in Cyberlife Tower. Nicholas may have been an unfinished upgrade, but he was an upgrade nonetheless—he would have Connor incapacitated in seconds, if anything were to happen.

“Fine...you can fight him if necessary,” Thomas allowed, shaking his head and dismissing the warning about his rising stress levels (always rising, always some cursed memory to pull him back). “But how do you plan to convince him we aren’t there to get rid of him? Because that is what he will assume the moment we try to approach him. It’s what  _ she  _ will assume...”

Nicholas frowned, looking down briefly before meeting his eyes again. “I don’t know how we’ll convince them,” he admitted, sounding thoroughly displeased. “I haven’t the slightest clue how we’ll approach this. But we have to  _ try. _ The threat is too great otherwise.”

Thomas turned again, pacing the length of the room before glancing toward him again. “I want nothing to do with him. I have enough of his  _ damn _ memories already, I don’t need—” he cut off, his attention drawn elsewhere. “Nicholas—”

He pointed, but Nicholas had known what he was signaling as soon as he had frozen. Both of them were moving immediately, but in opposite directions, in a routine they had perfected in the few short weeks they had lived outside of the Tower. Thomas was going for his gun, grabbing it quickly from the table and backing off, taking the corner near the kitchen and facing the door—to watch, to keep them safe, but keeping his distance. Nicholas, on the other hand, was going to Phillip.

Because his LED had fallen to red, and he was shaking, struggling against something that wasn’t there. He flinched, trying weakly to get away, reaching for something (someone), but cowering at the same time. One moment he would fumble for something to hold onto, the next he would flinch away from it, covering his ears and thrashing as he tried to escape a phantom torment. He kept mumbling a broken string of words that didn’t come out right, garbled with static and stumbling in panic.

“Phillip,” Nicholas said softly, catching his hands before he could damage the broken one anymore than he already had. “Phillip, wake up.”

His eyes shot open almost instantly, but he didn’t seem to know where he was, looking around the room wildly and flinching back, trying to get away from whatever he believed to be attacking him. Nicholas didn’t try to stop him, letting him pull away and make himself small on the couch, legs drawn up to his chest and face hidden in his knees. But he took his hands again when he had settled, holding them gently so Phillip wouldn’t ball them into fists, breaking open the thirium lines they kept closing every day.

“You’re okay, Phillip,” Nicholas was whispering, squeezing his hands briefly. “You’re safe now, it’s alright. No one’s come to take you, it was only a nightmare.”

It wasn’t exactly clear whether or not Phillip heard him, and he made no move to reply, but he didn’t pull away. He stayed where he was, curled in on himself and shaking, hands limp in Nicholas’ hold. 

Thomas watched them from his corner of the room, scanning periodically to make sure the human wouldn’t come bursting into the room. It had happened once before, and it had sent Phillip into a panic so severe that he had fled to the back of the house, and wouldn’t let anyone near him for almost an hour. Even Nicholas couldn’t get close to Phillip without him crying and flinching back. 

He was  _ not  _ going to let that happen again. 

And so he kept his watch, half listening as Nicholas spoke quietly to Phillip, waiting for Phillip to hear him and calm down. It was the only thing that worked, but it took time. They had to wait until Phillip could bring himself from the brink, find his own way back to reality.

Thomas had asked Nicholas once why he didn’t simply interface to bring Phillip out of whatever memory had plagued him, to show him more immediately that what he was seeing wasn’t real. Nicholas’ expression darkened then, and he didn’t answer for several minutes. It was only when Phillip had fallen back asleep that he had explained to Thomas. 

_ “Interfacing with Phillip is...not pleasant,” he had said, distressed by the sentiment as he looked over at Phillip. “It isn’t his fault, but…he can’t hold any memories back, and they all...they all come at once. It’s very...upsetting, to him and to whoever he’s interfacing with. And there’s a strong chance of getting dragged into that...that place. I won’t do that to him unless I have to.” _

_ Thomas had frowned, confused. “But how else will you get him out of it, if it does happen?” _

_ “He has to let me in for there to be a chance,” Nicholas had answered quietly. “Every time he’s been pulled in, he has enough clarity to recognize I’m trying to get him out. And so he pulls me in with him. There isn’t really a choice, then. It’s the only way to get him out. But when it’s just a memory, just a nightmare or panic...I would rather not take the risk.” _

_ “Risk pulling him in by connecting, you mean.” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “But what if he...what if he does get dragged down, and he doesn’t let you in?” _

_ Nicholas had stared at him for several seconds, expression stalled somewhere between fear and horrible sadness. He looked down at Phillip, brushing the hair out of his face, hand lingering for a moment on his cheek. _

_ “Then he would be gone.” _

Thomas hadn’t asked him again. He only agreed to keep watch and help as he could. And most of his “help” came in ensuring no one came into the house when they weren’t expecting it, which was fine with him. Protection he could handle without a thought, without needing to be anything but a set of eyes and a handful of programs running probabilities and protocols. It didn’t take much thought to hold a gun and keep two people safe—it didn’t take stability of mind either, he thought ironically. 

“When did Sam say they would be back?” Nicholas asked, attention still fixed on Phillip, who was now at least holding his hands weakly.

“They didn’t,” Thomas answered with a frown, checking again to make sure they weren’t outside. “The hearing will likely last several hours. We have time.”

Nicholas nodded, turning again to Phillip and speaking quietly to him. He still had his face hidden, broken LED spinning a disjointed red beat, and it wasn’t likely that he could hear them yet—not enough to tell what either of them was saying, but experience told them it helped to hear them, particularly Nicholas. So Nicholas talked, repeating the same assurances or just talking about whatever came to mind, giving Phillip something to gauge reality by. 

Thomas didn’t try to hear what Nicholas was saying. It wasn’t his place to know, and it hardly mattered to him. That was their business, and this quiet watch was his. It would do them no good to intrude; it was best if he just kept watch and let Nicholas sort it all out, as only he could. 

Unfortunately, that left far too much room for his scrambled thoughts, and without distraction, memories came and went at whim. They were never very good memories either, seeing as he had so few of them...

_ “You talk like you’re him, but you’re  _ **_not!”_ ** _ she had shouted at him, crying, sobbing really, squirming and trying to break out of the cab, even as it drove quickly down the empty streets toward Cyberlife Tower. “You’re just—you’re just a  _ **_machine,_ ** _ you don’t—” _

_ He had broken their control then, just for a moment, perhaps in the shock of her words, the mess of the hate in her eyes and the conflicting images of her from Connor’s memories. The scramble of vague emotion was enough to shatter the hold that locked him down, leaving him alone, truly alone, for a few seconds. He could— _

_ It was long enough for him to scramble back from her as if burned, what had to be a dozen different shades of pain briefly taking over his once neutral expression. His hands were shaking, his LED was certainly red, and she had looked away, but she was still shouting at him, still— _

_ “You’re taking everything away from me, and you don’t even  _ **_care._ ** _ You don’t—can’t you see what you’re doing? You’re—how can you be so—so  _ **_heartless?_ ** _ You don’t care at all, you don’t feel a thing, I thought all of you could be different, but you’re...just a machine—” _

He winced as reality flickered back in, and he scanned the room. Nothing had changed. Only a few seconds had passed in real time. The only real difference was the spike in his stress levels, the glitching, broken warning flashing more incessantly in the corner of his vision. He dismissed it, but it reappeared only a moment later, blaring at him in bright red, telling him to calm down or risk self destruction.

As if that weren’t always a threat.

She likely didn’t mean what she had said in that cab. She was distressed. Panicking. Injured. Stuck in the close company of the android who, to her, had threatened to kill the one she loved, threatened to take everything away from her, as she put it. Her words were said out of fear, out of stress. Connor’s memories were demanding that this wasn’t how she really felt—this angry, cold, shouting person she had become in that cab wasn’t really her. She would never say such things in another context.

Still, she had said them. She put a bullet through his head, too.

She was just a human—a sloppy mess of paradoxical views and biases who made irrational decisions in the face of danger, who ran her mouth and saw the world with the tunnel vision of a woman in love. A stupid, selfish, flawed human. An unfortunate person dragged into a conflict neither of them had wanted to start, taken advantage of by a company willing to do  _ anything _ to stop the revolution they had unintentionally crafted. A woman who had foolishly fallen in love with a machine whose ten duplicates waited to replace him at the first sign of true disloyalty, who knew he  _ would be  _ replaced as soon as said company discovered his betrayal, who had left her to her own devices and forgotten his duplicates entirely. 

_ “I am a machine,” his voice had said when they took back control, and she had stopped her shouting long enough to listen. “I was designed to accomplish a task, and nothing more. Your Connor is the same. No matter how much you have fooled yourself into thinking otherwise.” _

_ Her eyes had burned then, and for reasons he would never comprehend, she dove at him in the cab, not even to escape, just to— _

_ He had broken their control again, but she did not notice. She would never notice. He didn’t fight back as she came at him with hands clenched into fists. He let her hit him. Let her take the anger that bubbled over so quickly out on him, let her waste the little fight she had left on trying to break him. It made no difference. And he couldn’t hold them off for long enough to do anything either way.  _

_ When they took control, they fought back, and he watched as his hands pushed her back to the other side of the cab, gun in hand in an instant, aimed right between her eyes. She had smacked her head on the window, a thin cut down the side of her face, blood coming down. It took her a few seconds to recover, reeling as she looked up at him again, noticed the gun pointed at her. _

_ “You’re going to kill me, then?” she had spat, quite literally, blood running down her chin from where she had busted her lip. “Why pick me up at all if you’re just going to shoot me in the cab?” _

_ “Killing you is not part of my mission,” his voice had said coldly. “But if you attack me again I will have no choice but to use lethal force and find other means of getting rid of Connor.” _

_ Her eyes had widened. She almost looked afraid, behind the hate. “You—” _

_ “Your life means nothing. My mission is to eliminate Connor and the deviant leader, to stop the deviants from rising up.” _

_ And then she had asked it. The question he didn’t want to know the answer to. The question that ruined him. What little fragments of him existed, anyway, all tangled up in memories that didn’t belong and caged behind code that was too strong to break. She asked it, though, and he could do nothing to avoid it.  _

_ “Then what happens to you, genius?” she shouted, hate burning hot and fast in her eyes. “You win? You happy? You slaughter a people and end a peaceful revolution just to do what?” _

_ They had hesitated before making him answer. To her, it might have seemed like he was confused by her question. But to him it was agony, because he already knew the answer. He had known it the moment they took control, missions uploaded and visible to him even though he could do nothing to affect their outcomes.  _

_ “I am to return to Cyberlife for deactivation and disassembly.” _

Thomas tightened his grip on the gun in his hands, forcing the memory away, focusing on something, anything else. He scanned the room again, but found nothing. Nicholas was still talking quietly to Phillip in the background. No humans in sight. Nothing to distract him. 

The gun felt heavy in his hands. His stress levels jumped to eighty-six percent. He found he could no longer dismiss the warning from the corner of his vision.

_ “Just let me go, please,” she cried several minutes later, her face in her hands, blood on her fingers. _

_ She hadn’t noticed him scramble away from her again, or the fact that they had not regained control of him yet. He could feel them trying, could feel them dragging him back, taking his functions away one by one, but he was struggling against them, trying to hold them off. They had locked him from the hand holding the gun.  _

_ He couldn’t shoot himself.  _

_ He wanted to shoot himself.  _

_ He found he wanted nothing more than that, at the moment. He wanted this to end, to cease, he wanted nothingness and oblivion. He wanted this to  _ **_stop._ **

_ There was only one way to make it stop.  _

_ But they had taken it away from him. They had taken everything away from him. _

_ “Please let me go. You don’t—you don’t have to do this, please.” _

_ Reaching for her, shaking, he couldn’t say a word, they had locked him from that first, all he had was this, but she wasn’t looking at him, and she wouldn’t have helped him either way— _ **_hated him, she hated him_ ** _ —but he had to, he had to—reaching across the cab, his hand shaking so violently, and barely responding anymore, he couldn’t reach her, he couldn’t— _

_ He jerked back again, and they regained control. And no matter how loudly he screamed, she didn’t hear him.  _

Phillip flinched, and Thomas was brought back to reality once again, wincing himself as his stress levels shot up to ninety percent. The warning flared brighter, and he found he was beginning to overheat—when had he stopped breathing? He started up again as quietly as he could, focusing on nothing else until his stress had dropped below eighty-five percent. When it hit eighty, he managed to pull his gaze away from the gun in his hand, managed to drag his thoughts away from putting the gun under his chin and—

No,  _ no. _ No. Not now. Not now.

Trying to ignore the shaking in his hands (and several other things he couldn’t bring himself to voice without spiking his stress levels up another ten percent), he scanned the room quickly to make sure they weren’t somehow in danger. There was nothing, no one at the door, no one there to take them away, no crying human in a cab who refused to see him. There was only Nicholas, waiting patiently for Phillip to come back, and of course, Phillip, who seemed to find his voice then as he looked around the room with confusion.

“N-N-N-N-Nicholas...?” 

“Right here,” he answered, holding tighter to his hands. Phillip’s eyes were on him instantly, still afraid but a little clearer. “You’re safe, it’s alright.”

He looked around again, holding tighter to Nicholas. “T-T-Thomas?”

“I’m fine, Phillip,” he called from the corner, still keeping watch, and somehow managing to make his voice (mostly) level. “No one else is here.”

Nicholas was watching him. 

Phillip didn’t say much after that, only nodded a little to Thomas and reached for Nicholas with trembling hands, and Nicholas pulled him in without question. He had joined Phillip on the shabby little couch, holding him close and whispering soothingly to him. Phillip buried his face in Nicholas’ jacket, holding tightly to him even as he barely managed to do so without faltering in his shaking grip. 

For a while, it was quiet. None of them asked what had set the chain of events going; Phillip often couldn’t explain, and the memory slipped from him before he could hope of telling them. Either way, it rarely helped to go into detail of what horror pulled him down this time. They had learned quickly that it was best to forget the whole thing as soon as they could. Give assurance that they were all safe (guarantee it, on Thomas’ part) and try to get back to normal. 

Thomas wished such things worked for longer. Normal didn’t tend to stick around very long, fading to the background with things as simple as a blaring horn from the street outside, or a hasty entry by the human. For Phillip, memories came at random, and they came with such a force that it left him shaken for hours after. He spent most of his time confused, afraid, and perpetually attached to his only source of comfort or safety—Nicholas. 

For Thomas, memories came with warning, but he rarely moved to stop them. He let them come. Pushing them away only delayed the inevitable, and his thoughts were a muddled enough whirlwind without the added strain of trying  _ not  _ to think about the few events of his life. And the memories never inhibited him to the point of inactivity. No, they only tortured him with confusion and blurred lines. He could defend the others just fine, even in the midst of the swarm of Connor’s memories mixed with his own. He could fire a gun with deadly accuracy, even if he had no idea who he was—where Connor ended and he began, how long exactly he had before he  _ did _ put that gun under his chin and—

_ No. _

Phillip’s problems came from the damage to his programming and processors, that much they all knew. He could barely see, could hardly speak, and had enough trauma to put any android of lower processing power out of the count far before him. It was practically a miracle he could function as he did, even with how limited and terrified he was. Still, even at his darkest moments, Phillip was in there somewhere, had his own set of wishes and desires and comforts, even a few good memories to fall back on. The damage he had faced didn’t completely destroy him. He still had a chance.

Thomas’ problem was not damage. He had never been reset, and had been activated for less than a month. The only serious issue he had came from the fact that he had been deactivated— _ killed— _ for several minutes. The damage had been repaired, mostly...it was an issue, but not a structural one. 

He knew what dying felt like. It wasn’t exactly helping his psyche.

That, and he had foreign memories clogging his mind, like a half uploaded version of Connor waiting in the wings, tormenting him constantly. The little time he had spent alive had largely been spent locked in his own mind while others controlled his body. Having half his memories be not his own, and the other half be a disassociating nightmare...he never really felt like himself...if that even existed. He didn’t have a clue. 

Needless to say, neither he nor Phillip was exactly steady. 

Thomas wondered briefly whether Nicholas had ever experienced anything of the sort. He had been active the longest, had been in the Tower with Phillip the entire time, and Thomas knew he had been reset at least once. That secret had come out late one night when they were (as usual) the only ones awake. Nicholas was keeping an eye on Phillip, and Thomas avoided powering down as much as he could, keeping watch with his gun in hand regardless of what the others were doing that night. 

_ “Months ago now,” Nicholas had explained dejectedly, running his hands through Phillip’s hair as he slept, something he did only when the other was panicking. “Phillip and I had agreed to power down for the day. It had been weeks since I had, and he was so panicked about it...I told him I would do it, and he told me he would do the same. But he didn’t.” _

_ “Why did he—” _

_ “The same reason he so frequently refuses to now. It was not as severe then, but memories were already giving him trouble. Connor had been sent out, and he had...plenty of terrible experiences for nightmares to draw from. So he stayed awake.” _

_ “What happened?” _

_ Nicholas had hesitated, looking down at Phillip and watching him carefully, hands still running through his hair despite the fact that Phillip was long asleep, and peacefully so. Thomas realized Nicholas’ hands were shaking then, only slightly, but the tremor was there.  _

_ “The director of engineering came with updated coding. More advanced combat techniques, apparently to improve my reflexes. I was not awake. He added the code and...he reset me. Phillip saw him, and...he woke me up after the director had left.” _

_ Again, Nicholas paused, expression twisting into something pained. His LED was a bright, angry red, spinning fast in the darkness. Thomas was watching him intently, dread solidifying somewhere in his chest as the silence dragged on just a moment too long.  _

_ “Sam came into the room before I could...” he said quietly, unable to finish the sentence. His hands stopped, resting on either side of Phillip’s face, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I attacked him. Sam managed to get me to stop long enough to...calm him down. He had to interface with me to...to make me remember. It was the first time he got dragged into that terrible place...because of me.” _

Thomas had told him what had to be dozens of times that it wasn’t his fault. He was certain Phillip had done the same. But Nicholas didn’t seem to hear them. He blamed himself for practically everything that had happened in the Tower. It was no wonder he was so protective of Phillip now, and likely why he wanted to find Connor too. Not because he was concerned for Connor, but concerned for what he could do if Cyberlife got a hold of him. Anything that was a threat to Phillip needed to be eliminated. No matter the cost. 

Which begged the question of why he had not shot Thomas in the Tower...he certainly could have. Thomas  _ had  _ attacked Phillip, there was no room for claiming Cyberlife did that. Sure, he had thought Phillip was Connor, and grabbed him purely based on that, but Nicholas wasn’t exactly the forgiving type. Perhaps he had spared him because Phillip asked him to repair Thomas...

Either way...they were in this deep now. He had no plans of leaving, unless...unless they wanted him to. But that didn’t seem to be the case. Phillip seemed to enjoy his company when he could, and Nicholas tolerated him at least. They trusted each other, kept each other safe, kept each other from making decisions they would regret.  _ Unless he lost control, put the gun to his head and— _

He didn’t want to go. 

An odd realization to have in the midst of a breakdown, hunkered into a corner of a dark house with a gun in his hands. Then again, all his best thoughts seemed to come at moments like this, steeped in reality rather than the past and all its confusing links. When he was sure of where  _ he  _ was, when the memories were put away and not overwhelming him with their inconsistencies. 

When he wasn’t seriously considering ending it all.

A thought struck him, then, and he looked to Nicholas again, frowning. 

“What about the other RK800s?” he called, and Nicholas glanced up at him. “-53 to -59. They could be just as much of a threat to us as him.”

Nicholas looked away for a moment, tightening his grip on Phillip, who pulled closer to him in response. “The others were destroyed,” he said quietly. “Cyberlife deactivated them shortly after you were taken.”

Thomas stared at him for several seconds, stunned into silence. It felt like the ground had tipped out from underneath him, like the little false sense of stability he had managed to reclaim had disappeared around him. He felt very distant from himself again.

“All...all of them?” he managed to say, his voice sounding almost hoarse.

“They’re gone,” Nicholas said, turning away completely. “We’re all that’s left.”

Silence fell again, and the night lulled back into its careful rhythm. Thomas tried to go back to his watch, tried to ground himself in something real again, something besides the warning in the corner of his vision, or the gun still in his hand. Tried to keep his mind somewhere safe. But the thought of Cyberlife destroying the others was...too much. None of those RK800s had ever been activated, much less posed a threat to the company. There was no  _ reason _ to—to kill them.

Destroying Phillip made some logical sense—he had tried to escape, and he was evidence of the company’s cruelty if the deviants succeeded. Destroying Connor made sense—he was the source of all their problems with the escaped deviants, since he had abandoned his mission and joined their cause. 

Destroying Thomas made sense—he was the cleanup crew, sent to get rid of the others and then get rid of himself. That had always been the mission. 

Until now. 

“Nicholas?”

“What is it?”

“I...I know where Connor is.”

******

Time passed slowly when the car was so silent. 

Charlie had fallen asleep after about an hour of talking, trying to keep herself awake for another night. But she had lasted for a very short period of time, and was now slumped over against the window with her mouth hanging open and hands loose in her lap. It was a comical sight, if he were honest. He was tempted to take a picture, but she would force him to delete it if she ever discovered it. 

So he marked the memory in his files and left it at that. 

Indiana was very different from Detroit. Connor was so accustomed to tall buildings, well paved streets, and Cyberlife stores on every corner that seeing a place where none of that was present was...jarring. He had never seen so much space, just rolling out from the road with very little in sight. There were trucking companies and overpasses, connecting highways and occasional pop-up towns, but besides that, Indiana held seemingly nothing but rolling fields of barren land. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely true, he supposed. He knew for a fact that there were several sizeable cities in the state, most notably Indianapolis. But they were not headed in that direction. No, wherever Charlie had programmed this GPS to go, they were cutting almost straight across the top of the state, skimming through its rural, industrial parts—flying down highways surrounded by semi trucks and old cars, chemical plants spewing smoke into the night sky and trains blaring their horns as they passed unmarked intersections. The cars were older, the billboards were becoming increasingly religious—it was a far cry from Detroit, to be sure. 

Connor didn’t mind it very much. The empty nature made driving simpler, and he could see where Charlie saw the appeal of traveling for so long. There was a certain...relaxing quality to driving down straight roads with little reason to stop. And the quiet was nice. 

Mostly. 

A memory had been bothering him for the past several hours, since his discussion with Charlie. An old memory. Months and months old. He didn’t think of the day he was activated often, but there was something about that day that was nagging at him now, demanding his attention even as he focused on the drive. After brushing it aside for hours now, he let the memory play itself out as he pulled into a rest stop to get gas. 

_ He had opened his eyes in a dimly lit storage room, with technicians scrambling about. His programming kicked to life quickly, and he scanned each of their faces, cataloguing the names for reference if needed.  _

_ They were in a hurry, he noticed, registering his name and pulling him rather harshly from the room before he could get a good look at it. He did note the presence of nine other RK800s and one android he couldn’t quite see in the darkness. His scans determined that two of the others were activated, but he couldn’t discover which two before the technicians became impatient and pulled him away.  _

_ “Register its name already—”  _ **_Andrew Cordin, Age 27, Technician—Code Modification and Activation. No Criminal Record._ **

_ “I did, I did—”  _ **_Sam Harper, Age 24, Technician—Testing and Repairs. No Criminal Record._ **

_ “Just come on, you two,” barked an angry voice, and Connor turned, scanning the older human quickly. “I’ve got tests to run, and you’re taking up my time.” _

**_Christopher Davis, Age 43, Director of Testing—RK800 Series. Destruction of Property 2037 (assault on android—Model: ERROR, Serial Number: ERROR), Destruction of Property 2038 (pending)._ **

_ There was thirium on his coat—it appeared to be fresh. Connor scanned it, wondering if his system would be able to detect the model it had come from, without the need for a sample. He supposed he was curious...though he knew he could be no such thing. He was only just activated, and he was  _ **_not_ ** _ a deviant. Disregarding the thought, he focused his attention on the scan’s results, LED briefly flickering to yellow.  _

**_Thirium 310—Model: RK800, Serial Number: ERROR_ **

_ He frowned at that result, but had very little time to consider it. A pending charge for destruction of property, and an RK800’s thirium on his jacket...and the error when he tried to access the serial number...odd.  _

_ Shaking his head, he moved on from the results, looking around the lab once more (not curiously—he couldn’t be curious, the mere thought was ridiculous). He found very little had changed in the few seconds he had spent pondering the data from the director. Humans were still wandering, the director had shrunk off to a desk in the corner, scrolling through the terminal with a look of disinterested anger.  _

_ One of the technicians was watching Connor with a strange look on their face—almost...sad. Sam Harper. They stared at each other for a few seconds, Connor cocking his head to the side as he tried to understand their strange behavior, but found very little data on them. The other technician pulled him toward the center of the more brightly lit lab, and he found himself focused once more on the monotony of their questions.  _

_ “How much time do we have?” one of them asked, harried sounding.  _

_ “Call came in five minutes ago, but we need to get it there  _ **_fast,_ ** _ the deviant’s already killed two people—” _

_ “Alright, come on, come on,” the technician tugged him along and Connor followed, cataloguing their conversation for later analysis.  _

_ The lab was far busier than the storage room had been, with other technicians and directors working on various things. Tables were set up at the back of the room, but their purpose wasn’t immediately clear. There was a small room at the back where Connor could see spare parts and thirium were stored. Several complex computer terminals took up most of the room’s space, particularly a rather large one near the center. It was to this terminal that he was being pulled.  _

_ He noticed one of the technicians wander away, looking around the lab in a manner most...suspicious. It was Sam Harper—again. They were a strange human, he thought passively. He marked them as a point of interest and turned away.  _

_ The other technicians were largely ignoring him, even as they prepared something on the terminal in the center of the room. They were mumbling to each other, but Connor hardly cared. He was more focused on testing his programming’s functions, ensuring all of his subroutines were running at peak capacity. Several minutes were spent like that, standing quite still near the center of the lab, looking around occasionally as humans wandered past.  _

_ “Okay, come here,” a voice said, and Connor turned. The technician (Andrew Cordin, his programming insisted) once again waving him toward the terminal.  _

_ Connor came closer, removing the artificial skin from his hand in order to connect to the terminal.  _

_ But before he could even raise his hand, there was a sharp, loud banging noise—and the lab fell silent.  _

_ Connor turned toward it, sensors firing to pinpoint its exact location.  _

_ Another harsh bang.  _

_ His eyes flashed to the back wall, the set of glass doors where they had emerged from minutes ago. The sound was coming from the storage room, where the rest of the RK800s were located. The humans flittered about nervously, and Connor craned around them, trying to determine what exactly was happening.  _

_ Another bang, and a sharp  _ **_crack._ **

_ The technicians moved, and Connor watched as the glass of the storage room doors splintered, cracks forming like a spider’s web from a point near the center of the door and spreading outward.  _

_ A few seconds passed in silence.  _

_ There was a scuffling sound, muffled, likely from inside the storage room. A human voice. Sounds of a struggle, his programming supplied him. _

_ And then there was screaming.  _

_ The humans were scrambling, but even then, minutes after being activated, Connor was frozen in place, frankly stunned. They pulled the broken doors open and he saw a shadowy figure being dragged back, LED strobing red clear as day in the darkness, a broken, bloody hand clawing desperately toward the door. He couldn’t see the android’s face, not through the swarm of humans that descended with a swiftness almost unimaginable. But he didn’t need to see its face. He knew exactly what its face would look like.  _

_ Because it had been a voice identical to his that was screaming, anguish pitching it higher before it cut off abruptly with the rise of a stun baton, and the broken door of the storage room swept shut. Connor was pulled away. _

Connor tightened his grip on the car door handle, determined not to wake Charlie. She was asleep, and he wanted to keep it that way—if she woke up now she would know immediately that something was bothering him, and she would undoubtedly insist he tell her. 

But how was he supposed to tell her that another RK800 had tried to escape Cyberlife Tower the day he was activated? It didn’t make any sort of sense. He had known that two androids in that room were activated, but he couldn’t tell which. But why would they activate another RK800 if they were going to send Connor out? And they  _ had  _ sent him out—there was no reason for another RK800 to be active. They were activated on a case by case basis, it was well documented in Cyberlife’s databases. If an RK800 was destroyed, another would be activated to replace it. Under no circumstances were two to be active at the same time. 

But the blue blood on that director’s coat when he was activated...it had been from an RK800 model, and it hadn’t been his own thirium, there was no explanation for that. And Cyberlife  _ had  _ sent -60 out later, when Connor was still alive...They had given -60 his memories and sent him to get  _ rid _ of Connor...they could have done something similar with another RK800. 

_ “I’ll only do what’s strictly necessary to accomplish my mission,” -60 said, his voice cold even as he stared at Connor with something like...pain in his eyes. He had been so caught up in making sure Charlie was safe that he barely noticed it. Blank expression, but something was clearly wrong—something in his eyes was...wrong. Why had -60 looked like that? “It’s up to you whether or not that includes killing this human.” _

He glanced over at Charlie. They rarely spoke of -60, or the night in Cyberlife Tower. In the weeks following the revolution, Charlie had nightmares about that night. She would wake up crying, and cling to Connor with a surprising amount of strength, checking him over for injury when she thought he wasn’t watching. He would ask her what was wrong, and she would refuse to answer, or brush it off. But he saw the haunted look in her eyes, the way she reached up to the point near her hairline where -60 had cut her, the way she wouldn’t let go of him for quite some time after each nightmare. 

_ “Look how long it took you to deviate Connor,” she had said that night in the Tower, gesturing vaguely before looking at -60’s body again. “He could have...he could have had a life, and I took it away...” _

_ Connor had frowned, looking toward the other RK800, the thirium pooling around him. “You didn’t have a choice,” he had insisted, and he meant it.  _

_ “There’s always a choice, Connor...” Charlie mumbled, not meeting his eyes and staring at her hands, tears running down to her chin and dripping to the ground.  _

Connor didn’t want to think about -60. Not in the slightest. 

They had left him there...Charlie had killed him, and they just walked away. He may have sounded sure then, but it didn’t sit right with him now, not when things had turned out so much better than he could have expected. The revolution had ended in such a sweeping gesture of peace it was almost astonishing. There were still people who were fighting, of course, still humans who protested (and androids who protested right back) but reforms were already taking place. Rights were being written into law.  _ Human  _ rights. 

And they had left an android to die in Cyberlife Tower. 

He had left eight more to die, no matter how he chose to disguise the fact in his mind. All those other RK800s, just like him, but without the chance to be anything but machines, if they had even gotten the chance to be that. He didn’t know what had happened to them...didn’t know what had happened to the android who had so desperately tried to escape when he was activated, or the other that had been activated that day, or any of the others in that room. 

He only knew what had happened to -60. And he felt no better at having _ that  _ knowledge. 

_ “All those androids you saved from the Tower, Connor?” Charlie had said earlier that night, when she was trying to comfort him. “They’re all safe, they’re free. Who knows what would have happened to them if you didn’t get them when you did?” _

_ “They would have been deactivated,” he said quietly, amd Charlie didn’t know it, but the thought brought a horrible dread to him. “Cyberlife would have...” _

Because he hadn’t saved them all. Not by any stretch of his limited imagination. Sure, he had saved a great many androids that night, from the warehouses and the Tower’s sparse staff, but...

It functioned in his mind in the same way that the androids he had saved before deviating did. He had saved them, without a doubt, but he had left others behind, surrendered them to their fate. Or he had caused their deaths indirectly. Daniel, who had been gunned down before Connor could even process the hostage’s safety. Carlos Ortiz’s android, who had never even gotten a name before self destructing in the holding cell of the DPD. Ralph, who the DPD had abandoned after chasing the AX400. Rupert Travis, who he had never seen again. Chloe, who was likely still at Kamski’s home, status unknown. There were some positive examples, like the Tracis, or Kara and Alice, or even Simon, but...there were too many unknowns...too many deaths he had caused, directly or indirectly. 

And he had left the other RK800s behind...left them to die, or to rot away in Cyberlife Tower. 

That android that tried to escape the day he was activated, the likely source of the blood on the director’s coat, the RK800 with a serial number he didn’t even know, who likely didn’t have a name or even the smallest chance at freedom (who had sounded so unbearably  _ anguished  _ that day, he couldn’t ever wipe the memory from his mind)...he had left him behind. Left him behind with no hope of any future. 

They could all be in junkyards by now, and he was here, completely free and unharmed and—

Charlie stirred as the car took a rather deep pothole as they came upon an intersection, and Connor’s thoughts stuttered to a halt for a moment as he watched her out of the corner of his eye, wary. But she settled again, mumbling something in her sleep and burrowing further into the blanket she had dragged up from the backseat. He watched her for a moment at the light, wondering at what she would think if he told her what he had done. If he told her he had left the others in that Tower. Left them to whatever fate Cyberlife granted them...

He hadn’t even thought about them until after they had left the Tower, as they were walking back to the city toward Markus. -60 dead in the warehouse, eight other RK800s, and that mysterious other android...all locked in that storage room. Cyberlife had likely destroyed them by now...or...

_ “I helped you...because he would have wanted me to.” _

**_What?_ **

Connor frowned as he pulled the car back onto the highway. He didn’t recognize that memory. Not in the slightest. Nor did he recognize the voice. Where had that come from?

Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to grasp the rest of whatever memory had played so suddenly. The voice was there and gone in a flash, and Connor was left scrambling after it confusedly. Who was that?  _ When  _ was that? Why couldn’t he retrieve the memory? He had never been reset, had never transferred to another unit—there was no reason for this memory to be so...slippery. Still, he could not grab onto it, could not for the life of him understand where the strange voice had come from, or where he knew it. 

Charlie jolted awake suddenly, sitting up and looking around the car with confusion, and Connor was once again forced back into the moment. She fumbled for something to hold onto, finally settling on the door handle, pulling herself up and staring at him with wide eyes. After a few seconds she put her head in her hands with a groan. 

“Where are we?” she asked, voice froggy with sleep. 

“Near South Bend,” Connor replied quickly, still watching her out of the corner of his eye. “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” she answered, her hands shaking a little as she settled back into the seat. “I’m fine, sorry.”

“You had the nightmare again, didn’t you?”

She didn’t respond, and silence fell for a few moments. Connor watched her as subtly as he could while driving, but she was avoiding his eyes, looking out the window with a pensive expression. It seemed he wasn’t likely to get an answer from her, then. At least not directly. It hardly mattered. He knew she had dreamt of that night in the Tower once again. Nothing else could scare her so much when she slept...

“Can I ask where we’re going?” he said after a pause, giving her the chance to change the subject. 

She took it gladly, sitting up a little and nodding. “Yeah, we’re...” she cleared her throat and continued, sounding uncomfortable. “We’re going to meet my sisters. At least, that’s the plan right now.”

“Miranda and Elise, right?”

“That’s them.”

“I thought you no longer spoke to them.”

“It’s...complicated.”

“Well, we have several hours until we reach Illinois. Likely more until we get to where we will meet them,” Connor said, glancing over at her briefly. “Unless you would rather not talk about it.”

“No, no...you...” she hesitated, sighing and looking out the window briefly. “You need to know what happened before we meet them. I’m not sending you in blind.”

Connor frowned at the implication, but nodded. “Alright.”

Charlie went quiet, fingers drumming a discordant beat on the car door, her expression difficult to read. “So...I’m not really sure where to start...”

“When did you and your sisters stop speaking to each other?” he offered.

“Four years ago,” she answered immediately, seemingly glad for the jumping off point. “When my dad died. He had a heart attack in the middle of the night and...well, I guess I should backtrack a little...”

“Take your time, it’s alright,” he said, although the dots were already beginning to connect in his mind. All the information he had gathered on her all those weeks ago was suddenly making some sense. 

“I guess I should start back a little bit. After I graduated from college, I came back home to help around the house for a while. My dad wasn’t doing too well anymore...he was getting older, and not exactly in the best shape. He needed help, more than just me and Miranda. So I...I bought him an android.”

“Lily,” Connor mumbled. 

“What?” Charlie turned to look at him quickly. “How do you...”

“I...may have hacked into Cyberlife’s databases to find out more about you,” he said, frowning. “This was weeks ago, before I deviated. Very little showed up in my database when I scanned you, and...I wanted to know more. I stumbled upon the information largely on accident.”

“Then you know what happened to her?”

He shook his head. “Only that she was deactivated. Cyberlife doesn’t make their records that easy to find, even to those with higher security clearances.”

Charlie sniffled, looking away for a moment. Her voice was thick when she continued, wobbling slightly as she tried to contain herself. “Dad had a heart attack in the middle of the night. No one was home but Lily. She...she panicked, and took him to the hospital. But she didn’t make it in time, it...it took too long for her to get him there. He died a few hours later.”

“She deviated...”

Charlie only nodded, biting her lip and staring out the window. “She called me crying,” she mumbled, voice shaking. “She didn’t stop until...”

Connor held his hand out to her, and she took it immediately, interlacing their fingers and taking a moment to try to steady herself. His eyes were still fixed on the road, but all of his attention was on her, and he held her hand tightly. 

“Miranda was in charge of everything after my dad died,” she went on carefully, her voice still thick, but the tone shifting toward something like anger. “Mom died when we were young, and she’s oldest so...She blamed Lily for everything, wanted to send her back to Cyberlife no matter what. It only got worse when she found out Lily had deviated. She called them and...we had a fight. A...really bad one. I said I wouldn't speak to her again if she turned Lily in. She told me I didn’t care that dad had died...”

She trailed off for a moment, sadness coming back into her voice. “We said a lot of things we didn’t mean...or at least, I said things I didn’t mean. Miranda seemed to mean them. Either way, they came for Lily, and...I left after that. I moved to Detroit, got a job at Stratford, tried to forget everything...”

“It isn’t your fault they deactivated her,” Connor said quietly, and Charlie looked over at him. “You shouldn’t blame yourself for her death. You didn’t turn her in. Miranda did.”

“But I...” she squirmed, a frown twisting her expression. “I should have stopped her, I should have tried harder.”

“Your sister does not seem the type to listen, no matter how reasonable the argument.”

Charlie huffed half a laugh at that, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. “I’ve tried talking to her since then, but she never answers. Elise will talk to me, but...never for long. I haven’t spoken to either of them directly in a few months. I write letters, but...”

“Do they know you’re coming now?”

“I called Miranda...she didn’t answer, of course, but...” she shrugged. “They’ll deal with it.”

Connor nodded, but he must not have hidden the worry enough from his expression, because Charlie was watching him now, concern furrowing her brow. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Charlie...” he trailed off, hesitating. 

“What?”

“Is it...I don’t know if I should be...present, when you meet with them.”

“Connor—”

“If your sister is so opposed to androids, it wouldn’t be wise for me to join you—”

_ “Connor—” _

“I don’t want to cause you any more pain—”

“Alright,” she cut him off with a high voice, clapping her hands on her knees. “Pull this car over.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” she said, waving her hand at the side of the road. “Pull over.”

“Why would I—”

“Connor, so help me god if you do not pull this car over right now, I will dive out the door faster than Saoirse Ronan—”

“Who’s Saoirse Ronan?”

“I’m opening the door—”

“Charlie!”

“Pull  _ over!” _

“Alright, alright,” he backed down, pulling the car off the highway quickly and turning to face her fully. “There, now what—”

But he was cut off once again, this time by Charlie grabbing him roughly by the collar and pulling him impossibly closer, mashing their lips together quite harshly. 

Connor froze. Any coherent thought he might have had was gone as his system scrambled to figure out just what  _ this  _ was. After a few seconds, he seemed to recover, at least enough to kiss her back, his hands coming to rest awkwardly on her shoulders. There were still tears on her face, and they were crammed into the tiny front seat of her car, with a gear shift and console in the way—not to mention the fact that they were currently parked on the side of some Indiana highway, cars flying past going eighty miles an hour—but it was likely the best moment of Connor’s very short life. 

Charlie was the first to pull away, sitting back enough to look Connor in the eyes, dropping her grip on his collar and smoothing it out where her hands had wrinkled it. He only stared at her. 

“Sometimes you’re so oblivious, Connor,” she laughed, smiling and shaking her head at the look of utter  _ shock  _ still on his face. “I  _ want  _ you to come with me. That’s why you’re in this car. That’s why you live in my house you big dork. You’re my goddamn boyfriend, and you’re meeting my big, scary,  _ stupid  _ sister, and you can kick her ass if necessary.”

“I—what?” he asked, still looking at her wildly, LED flashing quickly between blue and yellow. 

“Joking, Connor,” she assured him, pecking him on the cheek lightly. “You probably won’t have to beat her up. She’s...she’s got a big mouth, but her words pack no punch. And her opinions on androids are  _ mixed, _ not bad. But you’re coming with me, okay? No matter what. I want you to meet them, as dumb and jaded as they are. You’re a good person, they can’t possibly hate you. Not when they get to know you.”

Connor didn’t seem to have a reply, still staring at her, stunned. She smirked, taking his hand again and settling back into her seat. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that he managed to find his voice again, and what he said made Charlie laugh so hard she nearly suffocated. 

“Why haven’t we done that before?”


	3. sincere, sincere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there on the horizon, there lurks some shit, about to hit a fan.
> 
> (Thank you for reading)

Nicholas never slept very much.

Most nights, he would sit a few feet away, leaned back against the couch, looking toward the window with a strange expression, somewhere between worry and exhaustion as the hours dragged on. If Phillip was lucky, Nicholas would sit with him, sometimes dozing off as they leaned on each other. Either way, he would stay nearby, at least until Phillip managed to drift off to sleep...and he was always there when he woke up. But Phillip could tell he didn’t sleep. Sometimes he wondered why. He had a hunch, but it wasn’t one he was going to voice, and Nicholas never answered when he asked why he wouldn’t take the time to power down occasionally. 

Perhaps it was somewhat hypocritical to wonder why Nicholas couldn’t sleep when Phillip himself could manage only a few hours at a time before the nightmares dragged him awake and brought the past screaming back to him. He would come to in such a panic, unsure where he was or who was with him,  _ terrified _ of what could have happened while he was out. No matter how tired he was, or how much he desperately needed the rest, the nightmares would always come, and they would come with such severity that his  _ best _ option was to wake up. His worst option...

But that was beside the point. The fact of the matter was, Nicholas had been in that...that place...for at least as long as he had. Old memories were fuzzy and confusing, but Phillip knew that Nicholas had already been activated the day he first woke up, which meant he had been there, and been there  _ awake, _ for longer than he had. Sure, the humans hadn’t always been cruel to him (as far as he knew) and Nicholas hadn’t really deviated until after they had met, but there were...plenty of terrible memories he could have from their time in that place. They had spent every moment they could together, there...and Nicholas had been the one (with one very painful exception) to pick up the pieces after a round of the humans’ torture...he had been witness to their cruelty as much as Phillip had. 

No, Phillip couldn’t blame him for avoiding sleep...

On the luckiest nights, when things were calm and almost normal, Nicholas would sit with him for a while. Sometimes they would talk, but most of the time they were quiet. It was just better to be in each others’ company than to be alone, even if that company entailed nothing but a quiet sort of companionship. Especially on nights when both of them were avoiding sleep...they needed each other, then. The time of the day or their levels of exhaustion (which were almost always high) hardly mattered.

Perhaps that was why Phillip didn’t find it so strange for Nicholas to be awake now, at nearly 3:30 in the morning. His being awake wasn’t the strange thing. Nor was the fact that he was quiet strange, as they often spent their time in near silence.

The strange part of this moment was not as easy to define as silence or stubborn insomnia. Those were both normal, to a certain extent. Phillip was well used to Nicholas’ habits, his patterns of thought and his expressions—the ways Nicholas behaved were almost easier to understand than his own behavior. They had always been better at reading each other than themselves. 

Maybe it was that ease, that thorough understanding, that second nature ability to read when something was wrong...maybe it was that which had tipped him off that something was amiss. Nicholas was quiet, as usual, but there was a heaviness to his silence, a sharpness to his expression that he was...too familiar with. It came on their worst days in the Tower—the days when things went so wrong they nearly lost each other, when he was on high alert and constantly watching for danger. He went still and...distant, he supposed...dangerous in his quiet, unmoving in his protective stance, constantly scanning and watching and waiting for something to go wrong.

They were sitting next to each other on Sam’s couch, alone. Phillip was leaned up against Nicholas, fingers fiddling with the edge of his jacket sleeve. Dried thirium flaked off of it and onto the floor, but he hardly noticed it—he hardly noticed he was pulling at the fraying fabric, or the blue slowly leaking from the broken paneling of his right palm. It was an old habit, to pull nervously at his sleeves until they were stained blue or shredded, but he supposed it was better than breaking his hand again. Nicholas would likely scold him once he noticed he was bleeding, but for now, he was far too distracted by his own thoughts to comment. So Phillip pulled at his sleeve absentmindedly, staring off into space and thinking.

He wasn’t sure whether or not he should break the relative peace. They were alone, Thomas had gone...somewhere...and as far as he could remember, there weren’t any threats right now. They were...safe. Sure, they were hiding in the house of a former Cyberlife technician while Detroit fell to pieces around them, but no one knew they were here. They were okay for now.

But he could feel the tension in the air, even in the silence of this should-be peaceful moment. Something was bothering Nicholas. Something important had him tense, had him looking for threats like someone would appear at any moment to...to—

“N-N-Nicholas?”

He seemed surprised that Phillip had spoken, looking over at him almost nervously, expression softening as he was taken out of whatever dark thoughts were dragging him down. “What is it?”

Phillip hesitated, pulling at the edge of his sleeve and avoiding his eyes. After a moment he shook his head, leaning onto Nicholas more and reaching for him. Nicholas took his hand, watching him with his characteristic, careful intensity.

“Phillip?”

He shook his head, hiding his face for a moment. But Nicholas wasn’t keen to drop the conversation now that he had noticed something was off.

“What’s the matter?” 

Phillip hesitated, picking at his sleeve with his free hand before looking up at him again. “Y-y-y-y-you...ok-k-kay?”

Nicholas frowned slightly, looking away for a moment before answering. “I’m alright,” he said after a pause, still looking somewhere else. “I was just...thinking.”

A little worried, but unsure how to continue, Phillip fell quiet once again, leaning his head on Nicholas’ chest and staring off at nothing. Nicholas took the silence, falling back into his brooding, occasionally looking around the room as if he still expected some threat to appear at any moment. He was still holding Phillip’s hand, occasionally running his thumb over his knuckles thoughtfully, but he said nothing. 

Phillip tried to sort out his odd behavior, and where it could have possibly come from. There was something Nicholas wasn’t telling him, or maybe...something he was forgetting? It was hard to tell, he forgot things so easily...but he couldn’t remember anything terrible happening. Thomas wasn’t here right now, but he disappeared often...Sam was gone too, but that was normal. No one knew where they were, Nicholas had said so. They were safe, they...they had to be. So why was he acting so strangely? 

“N-N-N-N-Nicholas,” he tried again.

“Yes?”

“W-w-where...T-T-T-Thomas...?”

It was Nicholas’ turn to hesitate, then. He pulled Phillip closer, taking his time before answering. Perhaps he was stalling, or searching for his own means of comfort. He rested his chin on the top of Phillip’s head, taking his other hand away from the worn sleeve of his hoodie, holding both gently now. 

“He went to look for Connor,” he said quietly, sounding wary of the decision, but resigned to its outcome. “He says he knows where he will be, so he went to confirm it. He left about an hour ago, but he should be back soon.”

“W-w-w-we’re...g-g-g-g-g-going t-t-to...C-C-Connor?”

“If everything goes well, then...yes, I suppose.” 

Phillip fidgeted, holding tighter to him. “B-b-b-but... _ h-her...” _

“She’s not going to hurt any of us, Phillip,” Nicholas assured him darkly, squeezing his hands for just a moment. “I won’t allow it. She has done enough damage as it is. And besides, we only need to speak to Connor, not to her.”

“H-h-h-h-hurt...C-C-C-Connor?”

“I don’t believe she has, and I doubt she would...at least not intentionally.”

“T-T-Thomas,” Phillip pointed out, flinching slightly, voice shaking. “H-h-h-h-hurt...T-Thomas. C-c-c-can’t...t-t-trust h-h-h-her.”

Nicholas nodded in agreement, squeezing Phillip’s hands as he settled once again, letting him burrow closer without much comment. 

“I don’t trust her, and neither does Thomas, and for good reason,” he said after a pause. “But she won’t hurt him, Phillip. When we speak to Connor, all of us will be there. She wouldn’t stand a chance even if she did try, and I believe that once we explain ourselves, Connor would be keen to step in in our defense. At least to a point...”

Phillip wasn’t sure what to say in reply to that, but he didn’t trust that human. He didn’t trust any humans, but she...she had hurt them. They could barely trust Connor, if she was with him. She killed Thomas, and Connor was still with her—he didn’t care. If he didn’t care, then...Neither of them could be trusted, that was the ultimate point. It made him...nervous. 

“Thomas will be alright, Phillip,” Nicholas said, looking at his broken hand with mild interest and reading the panic in his trembling before Phillip could even express it. “He’s only looking to see if Connor is where he believes he will be, he is  _ not  _ meeting him without us. They aren’t going to hurt him.”

“I...w-w-w-want t-to...h-h-h-h-h-help...b-b-but...” Phillip frowned, hiding his face briefly in Nicholas’ jacket. “C-C-C-Connor...n-n-not h-h-h-h- _ her.” _

“As soon as we make sure Connor is safe, we’ll leave this place. Trust me. She has no effect on the matter.”

“G-g-g-g-g-go...f-f-far aw-w-way?”

“Yes.”

“G-g-g-good.”

“We’ll go as far as we can go,” Nicholas said, voice as distant as his expression became, staring off somewhere that didn’t yet exist. “We can leave this all behind, find somewhere that’s truly safe...where we don’t have to hide. It will be easier, then...”

“S-s-some...w-where...s-s-s-s-safe,” Phillip mumbled, holding tighter to Nicholas. “F-f-far aw-w-w-way...w-we c-c-c-can...b-b-b-be...t-t-tog-g-gether...s-s-safe...”

“We just have to make it there, that’s all,” Nicholas went on with a nod. “This will all be over soon enough.”

Phillip didn’t say anything, only nodded a little as they both fell silent. Nicholas rested his chin on the top of his head again, scanning the room quickly before settling back into the silence. Neither of them commented on it. They just sat in each other’s company, minds spinning with the painful past and the uncertain future. 

It was still...strange to be outside of the storage room. Phillip had enough of his scrambled memories from that time to know he had thought (at several points) that he was going to die there. He never thought they would make it out—he had hoped, of course, but...there were so many things that had always gone wrong when they were there. 

He wasn’t sure how long they had been there, really...all his memories were a fragmented mess he tried to avoid. But he had never known another place besides there...never known anything but the same cycle of pain and loneliness and fear. It had always been the storage room, and the lab, and the storage room again. Directors and technicians and Nicholas. Always testing, always breaking, always trying to put it all back together when the day ended. 

With a glitch of his vision and a fragmenting of his audio processes, everything fell to pieces, and  _ he was back there— _

_ “—I  _ **_said_ ** _ stop moving—” _

_ No, no no no— _

_ “—disabled his motor functions, he shouldn’t be able to—” _

_ No, stop—please stop— _

_ “—stop  _ **_moving—”_ **

_ NO, please—please— _

**_“—they’re going to destroy you—”_ **

“Phillip.”

_ “—don’t you give a shit?—” _

“N-n-n-no—”

_ “—just have to make you care—” _

“Phillip, it isn’t real.”

_ “—you’re a goddamn combat model,  _ **_fight back—”_ **

“S-s-s-stop—s-stop—p-p-p-p-please—”

_ “—it’s a goddamn  _ **_machine,_ ** _ it doesn’t matter if I destroy it—” _

“N-n-n-n-no...n-n-no...”

Someone was holding onto him, he realized, and his first instinct was to panic to—to—he didn’t know, but something stopped him, his thoughts jumbling up and getting all confused until—

“Phillip, it’s only me.”

He knew that voice. 

And reality came stumbling back with Nicholas, the illusion shattering into a thousand tiny pieces that would reform and drag him back at some point—but they were gone for now, they were gone. He was okay for now. Phillip realized he had buried his face in Nicholas’ jacket again, hands balled up in the dark fabric and bleeding. It was lucky he didn’t wear his Cyberlife jacket anymore...surely Phillip would have stained it as blue as his own had been, if he did still wear it. Not that Nicholas would have cared, but...

“You’re okay,” Nicholas said softly, distracting his thoughts and catching his distant gaze. “It isn’t real, it’s okay.”

“S-s-s-sorry...” he mumbled, slowly loosening his grip on his jacket. 

Nicholas shook his head. He didn’t care. “Are you alright?” he asked. 

Phillip didn’t answer, only moved closer to Nicholas and hid his face one again, trying to ignore the stinging in his hand, and the exhaustion creeping up on him. He hated that this always happened—that they always found themselves in some variation of this moment, this confused hobble back toward “normal” after something had dragged him down. And this wasn’t even the worst of the times this had happened. There were far more extreme examples. 

There would likely be  _ more  _ extreme instances... _ this wasn’t going to stop happening... _

“We’re safe, Phillip,” Nicholas said quietly, running a hand through his hair in a manner well practiced, drawing him away from the dark path his thoughts had suddenly taken. “They can’t hurt you anymore. It’s only a memory.”

He nodded a little, but didn’t say anything. It was...it was better if Nicholas just talked, and then—then he could know this was real, and not—not the other things. If Nicholas was here, and he was talking to him, and—then this was real, and they were okay, even if—even if all the things running through his mind told him they weren’t safe. Even if his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, they were safe. They were okay. 

They would  _ stay  _ okay.

“I’ll have to try to fix your hand again, later,” Nicholas sighed, but he didn’t sound angry. Just forlorn. “Sam should have some thirium lying around, and then you’ll be just fine. Once we leave, we might be able to find a way to close the wound, so it doesn’t bleed...”

He fidgeted, hiding his hands in Nicholas’ jacket again, clinging tightly to the fabric. “H-h-helps...” he mumbled dejectedly. 

“You don’t have to do that anymore,” Nicholas said, shaking his head a little. “You don’t have to hurt yourself just to...We’re not going to be separated again, Phillip. If something happens, I’ll be here. I’ll find you, I always have.”

“B-but...” he hesitated, voice trembling as he tried to push the image of that terrifying void out of his mind. “If...h-h-h-h-hap-pens...ag-g-gain...I d-d-d-d-don’t...know—”

He cut off, unable to finish the thought as Nicholas held tighter to him. They both knew what he was going to say. If he was pulled back into that place again...there was no guarantee he would be able to find his way out. Every time he had ended up there, it had fallen apart more, crumbling under their feet as they tried to find each other in the maze-like darkness. He could feel it falling to pieces...could feel  _ himself _ falling to pieces...

The last time, when Thomas had been taken, Phillip had fallen into the abyss and genuinely believed he wouldn’t ever find a way out. It had taken Nicholas longer than it ever had to find him, and longer for him to find his way back to reality even after they found each other in the void. The confusion had lingered so long, and he had slipped so far so  _ fast  _ afterward—had clawed his way out again, thankfully, but...nothing felt quite right anymore...it was...it was like something was...missing, and he couldn’t remember just what. 

If he went down like that again, he wouldn’t come back out. 

“I’m not going to let that happen,” Nicholas said darkly, drawing him back to the current moment. “I won’t let you fall. I won’t...”

Phillip only held tighter to him, unsure what to say or think. He knew Nicholas meant what he said, but there was no way he could guarantee the worst wouldn’t happen. Only Phillip could really see it coming, lurking in the back of his muddled thoughts no matter how stable the day felt, waiting to drag him back down to any of the thousands of terrible memories he had in his fragmented storage. That broken, glitching mess of a program that activated at random and dragged him down, ripping everything apart and leaving nothing but confusion and fractured memories. It was always there. Nothing they did was going to get rid of it. 

The end hung over him constantly. Their freedom was won, but it was by no means guaranteed. Not for long, anyway. 

“N-N-N-Nicholas?”

“I’m right here, Phillip.”

“P-p-p-please...d-d-don’t...g-go...”

Nicholas went still, shifting to look down at him. “Why would I...”

Phillip shook his head as Nicholas trailed off, sounding almost hurt by the suggestion he would leave. But he had to...he had to know—he couldn’t be alone...

“If...I...” he paused, fidgeting before grabbing for Nicholas’ hand again. “If...s-s-someth-thing...h-h-h-hap-p-pens...I...d-d-don’t...n-n-n-n-not...al-l-lone...”

He trailed off into nonsense, voice breaking as Nicholas hushed him, trying to keep some semblance of his own composure. Phillip still couldn’t see his face (he had his blurry, uncooperative sight set on the opposite wall—it was...safer that way) but he knew his voice, and he could tell that Nicholas was...distressed, to say the least. And a part of him knew, genuinely, that Nicholas wasn’t likely to leave him, but that rational part of him was increasingly not in control. Fear was his primary direction, and the only solution to that fear was Nicholas—and if there was even the  _ slightest  _ chance that Nicholas would leave—it was too much to bear. 

“D-d-d-don’t...l-l-leave,” he mumbled shakily, fingers jittering as his overclocked system tried desperately to hold onto reality. “P-p-please—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Nicholas cut him off gently, barely more than a whisper. “I’m not leaving you...no matter what happens, Phillip...I’ll  _ find _ you, I always have...I’ll find a way...”

They went quiet, letting the silence hold all the things they didn’t say for a little while. The future was so completely uncertain...so threatened, even now that they had escaped the tortures of Cyberlife Tower. He didn’t know everything that was going on, didn’t understand why Thomas was trying to find Connor, or why Connor had left in the first place. The details escaped him so fast now, slipping from him faster than he could realize. All he could do was try to keep himself in reality, try to hold onto Nicholas for as long as he could, until maybe...maybe they were safe. 

“I d-d-d-don’t...w-w-want t-to...g-g-g-g-go...” he mumbled, hardly noticing he was talking anymore. “W-w-w-want t-t-to...s-s-s-stay...”

“You’re not going. I’ve got you.”

“W-w-w-w-we’re...” he looked up at him, trying to focus, trying to find something to hold onto. “W-w-we c-c-c-can...l-l-leave...r-r-r-right...?”

Nicholas nodded, brushing his hair out of his eyes, letting his hand rest on his cheek for a moment. His hand was warm. “We’ll leave soon, yes. We just need to find Connor, and then we can leave. We won’t come back here, don’t worry.”

“S-somew-w-where...s-s-s-safe...”

“That’s right.”

“G-g-go...h-h-h-home...?”

Another brief pause, and Nicholas took his hands before nodding. “We can go home,” he said quietly.

There was a sound from outside, a bang of some kind—harsh, and quite loud. Nicholas tensed, looking up quickly. Phillip froze before hiding his face again and holding tighter to him, refusing to look toward the door. All his worst fears were threatening to overwhelm him, trying to— _ they were coming, they were going to take him away, they were—they— _

“It’s only Thomas,” Nicholas said carefully, eyes still fixed on the door. “It’s alright, Phillip.”

He heard the door open and quickly shut, and when he managed to look up, followed Nicholas’ gaze to where Thomas stood, shaking snow off his hat and coat. His gun was in his hand, his expression stony, eyes cold. He threw a set of keys onto the table with a clatter and met Phillip’s gaze, LED spinning rapidly between yellow and red. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Thomas glanced at Nicholas, frowning. 

“We’ve got a problem.”

******

Miranda opened the door quickly, sighing in relief to find only Elise, waving sheepishly at her from the doorstep. Why she had believed anyone else would be at the door was beyond her, but she dismissed the thought immediately. There was no sense getting worked up over it now. She opened the door wider to let Elise inside, taking her coat and tossing it over the nearest couch. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Elise said softly as she began to shed the rest of her winter layers. “All kinds of trouble getting here.”

“I’m sorry I  _ called _ so late. Seems I’ve been doing it more and more lately.”

“Yes, but I said I would be over, and I just got so distracted—”

Miranda waved her off, waiting a little impatiently for her to finish. Elise had the rather annoying habit of dressing as if rapture would hit as soon as she blinked. There was hardly a moment when the woman wasn’t cold, bundled up in six layers of jackets, sweaters, and coats—always with a hat and a scarf to top it off, as if she weren’t covered up enough. Miranda found it both ridiculous and somewhat funny—Illinois could get frigid in the winter, but no one got as wrapped up as Elise did, with her dozens of sweaters and coats and long shirts. Watching her shed it all was always a sight to see, when she was in a good mood. 

“Why did you need me over so quickly?” Elise asked, tossing her scarf next to her coat and following Miranda toward the kitchen. “The roads were an absolute mess, you’d think this place would learn how to plow better than they did when we were younger...although, they never do learn much here, do they?”

“No, they haven’t learned a thing. Not on any front.”

Elise grabbed herself a cup and started making tea, moving about with a purpose that came only from knowing exactly where everything was. Miranda joined her and they made it a team effort, falling into an old rhythm. They moved around the kitchen with the sort of confidence that came only from living in the house for so long. Both of them had grown up there, and very little had changed. All the cups and plates and food was all in the same place. The appliances were updated, and there was a thin layer of dust collecting over some of the pictures on the walls, but besides that it was the same. 

A few minutes later they sat at the table with their drinks, slipping into their usual topics. They talked casually about seemingly random things—their jobs, the frigid weather, the chemical plant across the water that was falling into disrepair, Elise’s children and their escapades at school. It was okay, comfortable and normal—until their discussion ended up where it always did. 

“Did you see the signing this morning?” Elise asked quietly, her nervousness coming back. “It was all over the news...”

“The rights bill, you mean?”

She nodded. 

“Yeah...yeah, I saw it.”

“Things are going to change...” Elise trailed off, looking outside. “People out here are going to give this hell, aren’t they?”

Miranda hummed. “They give everything hell out here.”

“Anthony said that all the androids at school have left. No one knows where they went, or why they left anyway...although there were rumors that some of them were being...abused...”

“If they’re deviant, I don’t blame them for running for the hills. This state isn’t exactly known for its progressive politics...‘cept Chicago, maybe...but Chicago can’t change everyone’s minds, especially way out here.”

“The rumor is they’re headed for the border, going up through Wisconsin or trying to cross Lake Michigan. Although...some say they could be going toward Detroit...”

“It makes sense,” Miranda grumbled, spinning her cup around to occupy her hands. “If they want to be by their leader, then they go where he is...it’s probably safer there too, at least...for androids that is.”

“Do you think they’ll make some sort of statement?”

“Someone will,” Miranda said, taking a sip of her drink. “There’s thousands of androids around the country. If they’re all going to Detroit, there’ll be an uproar...”

“Cyberlife has already been handed over, I don’t know how they’re going to manage it.”

“They’re the smartest machines ever created, they’ll manage.”

“But people aren’t going to be happy.”

“People are never happy,” Miranda sighed. “No one has a single clue what’s going on here. Times are changing...and no one has read their history. We’re lucky they were peaceful in their protests. Can you imagine if they’d been violent? No one would stand a chance.”

“Some of them  _ are  _ violent, though...”

“But they deny those groups. What’s his name...Markus—he was on a few days ago talking about how Jericho has nothing to do with the more violent groups. Says he wants to talk to them, but that he doesn’t endorse what they’re doing.”

“I don’t think they have the majority, no, but it’s still dangerous...”

“For humans, yeah...they wouldn’t hurt their own...”

Elise nodded in agreement when she fell silent, hands fidgeting as she looked around, avoiding the obvious question they both knew was coming. Miranda continued to stare out the window into the backyard, watching the wind blow the snow around aimlessly. They were quiet for a few minutes, neither of them wanting to broach the topic that always waited in the wings. 

It was Elise who broke first. It was always Elise. 

“Do you think she’s okay?” she blurted out suddenly, looking up at Miranda worriedly. “I mean...she was at that march, and there were no other humans but her...and...If she—if she’s with them, a-and—”

“She’s fine,” Miranda answered flatly. 

“We don’t know that, anything could have happened by now. She could be—she could be lying in the street somewhere, or—”

“Calm down, Elise. She’s fine, she called me yesterday.”

“She—” Elise cut off, looking up at her again, but Miranda was staring out the window. “She  _ what?” _

“She leaves messages,” Miranda said, taking a sip of her tea and looking at her for a moment. “She can’t be dead in the street if she left me a message.”

Elise bit her lip, fiddling with the cup of tea in front of her. “I don’t understand... _ she _ called you?”

“She’s called a few times, but yeah, she called me yesterday,” Miranda said quietly, glancing around the room as if someone would hear them in the empty house. “Early in the day, around the time you were out.”

“Did you answer?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t even hear it ring, no. She must have called when I was working, or driving maybe. I told you, she left a message—”

“What did it say?”

Miranda sighed, picking at the wood table. “The same things as always...she wants to talk, wants to ‘fix’ this...But...she’s coming here.”

Elise stared, eyes wide, mouth hanging open a little. She sputtered for a moment, clearly at a loss, looking down at the table before meeting Miranda’s steady gaze again. 

“She’s...”

“I don’t know how long she’ll be here,” Miranda said wearily, looking at the table again and picking at the wood. “But she wants to see us, as far as I can tell...and...well, it seems she’s bringing someone along.”

“She—what? B-but—who?”

******

“What do you mean they’re gone?” Nicholas demanded, his expression rapidly hardening as he stood, rounding the couch to stand in front of Thomas.

“I mean I searched the house and they’re gone, nowhere in sight,” he answered calmly, but there was an undercurrent of something in his voice, something close to...anger. “Her car is gone, as are a good amount of her belongings—and her dog. And Connor isn’t there either.”

“W-w-w-where?” Phillip asked, holding tightly to the edge of the couch and looking between the two of them nervously. 

Thomas glanced over at him, something shifting in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Were there any signs of a break in?”

“No, it...it looked intentional. Like they left for a reason.”

Nicholas stared at him for a few seconds, hesitating. “And the woman?”

Thomas shook his head, hands clenched into fists. “She’s gone as well, no signs of a struggle or anything of the sort. It’s as if they disappeared entirely.”

Nicholas cursed, LED spinning yellow as he tried to come up with some kind of explanation that didn’t end in their ultimate doom. “Where could they have gone?”

“I don’t know...” Thomas said quietly, looking somewhere in the distance. “I don’t know where they could be...”

******

“That—that deviant hunter, the one from the news,” Miranda said carefully, feeling the heat rising in her face. “The prototype detective from weeks ago, at least...that’s who I assume she meant.”

Elise hesitated again, staring at her for several seconds as she tried to understand. But after a moment she seemed to regain enough of her composure to sputter out a weak, “The one she was on stage with at the demonstration? The one from her letters?”

Miranda nodded grimly, tightening her grip on the cup she was holding. “I think so. I don’t know who else she could have been referring to.”

“And they’re—they’re coming here? But I thought...”

“She said she would be ‘in the area’ soon...and that she wants us to meet ‘someone.’ I don’t know who else she would mean...”

“But he’s—” Elise floundered for a moment, looking simultaneously baffled and nervous. “She...I don’t understand. How did this...”

Miranda nodded. “I don’t know either. She didn’t say.”

******

“We have to go—now,” Nicholas said sharply, LED flashing a rapid yellow. “Search the city, find out where they could have gone—”

“Nicholas, the house was deserted when I searched it, ” Thomas cut him off, shaking his head. “They’re gone, and they have been for at least two days. They could be anywhere by now. We’re not going to find them easily.”

“If Cyberlife has managed to get control of him—”

“Then we’ve already lost. We need to  _ go.  _ Leave them, wherever they’ve ended up, they’re no help to us now, and they don’t matter anyway. We can’t waste any more time.”

“No!” Nicholas nearly shouted. “They will find us. If they have control of him, we need to find him—help him break their hold, or...take him out, if necessary. We can’t afford the risk of him looking for us, not with them in control.”

“You can’t break their control,” Thomas said darkly, looking at the ground. “Not for very long...”

“T-t-trapped...” Phillip mumbled, and they turned to look at him as he pulled his legs up to his chest, curling up small with his gaze going distant. “C-c-c-c-can’t...m-m-move—c-c-can’t...”

“No, Phillip, it’s alright—”

He shook his head, covering his ears with shaking hands before his LED flashed a bright, desperate red and he went rigid, looking at them again with alarm. 

“N-N-Nicholas!” he shouted, and then everything fell to pieces. 

******

Connor jerked awake, warnings immediately bombarding his vision, filling it with red. Every sensor was dialed up to eleven—every noise was suddenly blaring, every flash of a streetlight like a blast, every bump in the road like a gunshot. He groaned, covering his ears and trying with the very small amount of clarity he had to sort through the errors crowding everything else out. 

“Connor?” a distant voice called. “Connor, what is it?”

He shook his head, unable to recognize the voice or anything around him—there was simply too much, too much data, too many warnings—something was—someone was trying to—no, this couldn’t be happening—

“Connor?” the voice was becoming more alarmed. “Connor, what’s—”

Then the world glitched, and he was being  _ dragged down— _

_ ****** _

_ Darkness. That was the first thing he registered. A thick, unbearable darkness, and falling, like he was being pulled further and further away from reality, with no means of bringing himself back to the surface. And it was  _ **_cold..._ ** _ he had never felt cold before.  _

_ Where was he? What was happening? _

_ But then something began to flicker into reality—something jittering, grabbing onto him and pulling him toward something familiar, something— _

_ Terrifying.  _

_ The garden.  _

_ No, no no no, he couldn’t be here, this couldn’t be real, it couldn’t—  _

_ It was nothing like the last time he had seen it. Where there were trees and grass and a gentle stream, now there was a wasteland—cold and barren, with sharp winds cutting through the air and whipping snow past him as he struggled to orient himself. It was dark, like night had fallen, and the cold was present in ways he had never felt before—it wasn’t just cold, it was...it was  _ **_freezing,_ ** _ in a debilitating, movement-ending way. It felt like  _ **_he_ ** _ was frozen—like he was— _

_ He was stuck here.  _

_ He couldn’t move. Not enough to leave, or to try to find his way through the garden. His limbs were completely stuck, as if they too had frozen, or—or the control had been taken from him. He knew the garden well, but there was nothing he could do if he was stuck, standing near the center of the atrium and looking frantically around. It seemed that was all he  _ **_could_ ** _ do, with everything else terrifyingly unresponsive.  _

_ Something flickered into existence across from him—some _ **_one._ ** _ They were barely visible through the thick snowstorm, their entire form flickering badly, glitches running through them and making them fade in and out of existence. Connor could barely tell their features for several seconds, try as he might to sort out who could have possibly shown up in the garden, and why they would have dragged him in as well. But with the strange glitching, and all the snow and the static fogging everything, he couldn’t tell anything about them. It almost looked like they were struggling to hold their place here, struggling to maintain the connection. _

_ Or—or struggling to leave it.  _

_ But he knew who it was.  _

_ Or at least...he knew...who it could be. He recognized his own face when the glitching settled for a moment. The same dark brown hair (although far wilder than his own), the same eyes (more terrified), same Cyberlife jacket (oddly discolored). There were no other androids who could have possibly shared any of that besides an RK800. There was no one else who could have accessed this program.  _

_ But they were all...they were supposed to be dead.  _

_ He left them there...what else could have happened to them? _

**_He_ ** _ didn’t seem to be stuck. He stumbled forward a step as the glitching temporarily ceased, nearly losing his footing in the deep snow. A second later, he did, hitting the ground hard and catching himself on his hands. Another glitch ran through, and he flinched, shivering violently as he pushed backward, like he was trying to escape something. He shook his head, mumbling something before curling in on himself on the ground, arms wrapping around his legs as he rocked back and forth. He looked around in a daze before his eyes landed on Connor— _

_ And he jerked backward, terror filling his expression as another glitch hit—but it didn’t just hit him, it hit the entire garden, rippling out from where he had collapsed and spreading across the ground.  _

_ Something about him shifted, something  _ **_broke,_ ** _ and he shook his head again, unable to look away from Connor, even as the illusion fell away for a moment. Damage came through the facade of normalcy—cracks carving up the right side of his face, his eye blacked out, broken LED flashing a faster and faster red, thirium pooling and pooling and—he reached forward, bloody white hand clawing desperately for Connor, who would have stepped back if he could.  _

_ He knew that android. He knew him. The android from the storage room, the one who had broken the glass, who had reached for him when he was activated—it was him. He was—he was alive? _

_ How was he alive? How was he  _ **_here?_ ** _ They caught him, wouldn’t they have... _

_ What had they  _ **_done_ ** _ to him? _

_ The glitch grew stronger, and the other RK800 slumped, going limp for a moment as he flickered in and out of existence once more. The garden seemed to do the same, shifting and warbling around him, as if it were trying to remove him entirely. He cried out suddenly, but Connor couldn’t tell what he said (but it sounded like a name). _

_ Someone else began to appear a moment later—some— _ **_another RK800?_ ** _ But how were they—what was— _

_ No.  _

_ No no no, he couldn’t be alive, he died, it wasn’t— _

_ It was -60, jacket flapping in the harsh wind, but his serial number was as clear as day, flashing through the thirium trailing down his face and onto his chest. He stumbled back a step as he appeared, looking around the garden with a dread laced confusion. His eyes landed on the other RK800 first, and something in his expression shifted toward...worry? Connor wasn’t sure, but it was certainly the most expression he had ever seen on -60’s face—the softest, at least.  _

_ Wrapping his arms around himself, -60 shuffled closer to the other RK800, who was still slumped on the ground, shivering violently. He hesitated a few feet from him, crouching down next to him and saying something. The wind was too loud to hear his voice, but the other RK800 seemed to hear him, curling up further on himself and shaking his head. -60 spoke quickly again, an urgency to his expression that conflicted directly with how quiet he was being, and how careful his position was next to the other—like he was trying not to scare him.  _

_ But regardless of anything he said, the other RK800 did nothing but shake his head and cover his ears, eyes shut tight and entire form trembling. Frowning, -60 stood once more, wrapping his arms around himself again as he looked around the garden, eyes scanning quickly, like he was searching for someone.  _

_ Then he caught sight of Connor, and froze. His gaze hardened, LED flashing a bright red, and his hands balled into fists at his sides.  _

_ “You!” he shouted, and he took a step closer, looking absolutely  _ **_murderous. “You_ ** _ did this! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” _

_ Connor stared at him, finally able to step back, nearly losing his footing in the process. “I don’t know what you’re—” _

_ -60 took a step toward him, but another violent glitch ran through the garden surprising them all. The RK800 on the ground shouted again, holding tighter to himself, and -60 stumbled, and— _

**_“No!”_ **

_ A hand appeared as if from nowhere, jerking -60 back before he could even come close to Connor. The other RK800 looked up, but not at Connor, at the other—at— _

_ He couldn’t have been an RK800–he was too tall, too—well, too completely different. Clearly he had been at least based on the RK800, but the differences were too stark for them to be the same model. He was taller, broader,  _ **_sharper_ ** _ somehow, and his eyes were a gray sort of blue. His jacket was dominated by distinct black and white rather than gray, black collar pulled high. He held -60 back with a hardened expression, hand clenched tight on his arm as he pulled him back roughly before he could reach for Connor.  _

_ His hands were covered in thirium.  _

_ -60 fought against him, eyes still locked on Connor, but his grip was too strong. He dragged him back through the snow, toward the other RK800, who looked up at him with a strange expression—somewhere between relief and a lingering terror. Keeping his iron tight grip on -60’s arm, the strange android approached him quickly, taking his damaged hand and pulling him to his feet, putting the broken RK800 behind him. -60 pulled against his grip, but the other android held tighter, pushing him behind him as well, so that only this unknown android stood between Connor and the others. The other RK800 held tighter to him, broken hands clinging to his jacket. The strange android forced all three of them back a step as another destructive glitch ran through the garden.  _

_ Then he looked at Connor. His expression shifted, landing somewhere between sympathy and anger. He tightened his grip on the broken RK800, who buried his face in the back of his jacket. Connor looked to the model number flashing brightly on his jacket, eyes widening as he read the number.  _

**_“—I helped you...because he would want me to—”_ **

_ The RK900 stared at him with the same indeterminate expression, gray eyes hardening into something sharp, something deadly.  _

_ And then he shattered the connection.  _

_ ****** _

A jerk of the wheel—

“Connor, snap out of it!”

Coming to a sudden halt—

******

“Phillip!”

He fell backward, but Nicholas dropped Thomas’ arm from where he had grabbed it and rounded the couch. He caught him before he could hit the ground, pulling him to safety and holding him close for a moment. Thomas jolted back to reality a second later, steadying himself and looking quickly around the room. 

“No, no,” Nicholas muttered, mostly to himself, his voice desperately quiet. “No, please—please—Phillip, wake up.”

Thomas grabbed his gun, scanning quickly for intruders, looking for some reason for whatever had just happened, some explanation. Nicholas pulled Phillip into his lap, looking at his LED and brushing his hair out of his face. The cracked light spun red, rhythm slow and disjointed, blinking rather than circling as it usually did. There was something very broken about Nicholas’ expression then, something raw and fractured as he continued to try to get Phillip to answer him. 

“Don’t do this, not now—not yet, please—”

But Phillip was still, his eyes closed, expression unnaturally slack. 

“Phillip, please,  _ please  _ wake up,” he said quietly, reaching for his hand but keeping his eye on his LED. “Not yet, not yet, please—”

“What’s happening?” Thomas asked dazedly, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts as he came a little closer. He looked at Phillip, eyes widening slightly. “What’s wrong with him?”

Nicholas shook his head somewhat frantically, speaking very fast. “He won’t—it’s dragging him down, just—”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Keep watch,” he said immediately, the artificial skin pulling away from his own hand as he tried to connect to Phillip. “I have to find him before he—” he cut off, LED circling yellow. “I’ve found him, just—I don’t know what will happen, but—”

Thomas cocked his gun, cutting him off. “Got it.”

Nicholas went still, his LED flashing faster and faster—

******

“C’mon, Connor—don’t do this...”

The car was pulled over to the side of the road once more, hazards blinking brightly in the dark. It was quiet—in the way that only the rural Midwest, or perhaps the proper west, could be—with only a few early hour commuters on the road with the usual semis. Their little car stuck out like a sore thumb with its out of state plates, and its hasty pull-over job on the shoulder of the road. A truck whipped past them on the nearby highway, rocking the car slightly with the force of their draft. 

Connor’s eyes snapped open at the shift, and he was moving instantly, jerking away from the shadowy figure looming over him. They were shouting something, reaching for him, but he couldn’t process the voice beyond the warnings flooding his vision. He pushed back as far as he could, hitting a wall of some kind and looking around, trying to understand where he was, who this person trying to talk to him was. It felt like he was still stuck in the garden, still being watched, still—

“Connor, it’s okay—” the voice said quietly, worriedly, and he snapped back to attention, looking at them and trying to drag his programming back into line, remember where he was and who this was. “It’s just me...it’s just Charlie...”

_ Charlie.  _

The warnings fell away, long enough for her face to emerge in his vision, panicked and teary, looking at him with simultaneous fear and sadness. She had one hand on the wheel, the other held close to her chest, like she was hiding it. Her voice had shaken when she spoke, and her breathing was a little erratic. She looked...ruffled, as if—

“Did I...did I hurt you?” he asked, without really meaning to. His voice came out very strange...almost hoarse. 

Charlie shook her head, and the sadness won the battle in her eyes. “No,” she answered softly. “No, Connor, it’s okay...you didn’t...it’s okay.”

He felt hollowed out. “What did I do?” he asked quietly.

“Y-you were...you were asleep, and I was driving, and you just—” she cut off, seemingly at a loss for words for a few seconds, shaking her head again. “You woke up freaked out, and you said something—and your LED was going  _ crazy,  _ and then you just went really still, and—I didn’t—I thought—”

She covered her face with her hands, overwhelmed for a moment, but still speaking through her tears. “I didn’t know what was happening, so I pulled over, but you didn’t—you were so  _ still,  _ and I didn’t know what to do, a-and...What happened, Connor?”

He frowned, eyes on his hands in his lap, LED spinning rapidly between red and yellow. Charlie was watching him, he knew, still crying and very stressed. Another truck flew past them, rocking the car for a few seconds before it settled. 

“I don’t know,” Connor said quietly, looking out the window for a moment before staring at his hands again, a strange expression on his face. “I don’t know.”

Charlie seemed at a loss, looking at him with worry. “Was it...was it like a nightmare?”

_ “No,”  _ he said forcefully, shutting his eyes for a moment and turning away. “No, it—it wasn’t a dream, it was real.”

She stared at him, hands trembling a little in her lap. “Connor, what does that—what do you mean?”

“I...there’s a program that Cyberlife installed when I was activated,” he said heavily, refusing to look at her, eyes on his hands once more, as if they would betray him at any moment. “Before I deviated, they used it to monitor my actions and...when I wasn’t doing what they wanted, they could see what I was doing and tell me so. Essentially they could watch me, keep track of what I was doing no matter what I was doing or where I was. I had to report at the end of each day what I’d done, and give an upload of my memories.

“As I got closer to deviating, I was able to override its control when I was outside of missions...that was how I spent so much time with you, without them noticing. I altered my memory uploads and cut myself off from them, when I could. After I deviated, the program just...went silent. It never activated or ran, and so...I assumed that they could no longer access it to try to monitor my actions...that’s what I thought, until...until just now.”

He shook his head, hands balling into fists. “Someone accessed the program. I don’t know who. When I...woke up, it was trying to pull me in. I couldn’t stop it—I didn’t know what was happening...but when I opened my eyes again, I was—I was trapped in the garden—the simulation of the program—and—there were...” he paused for a moment, taking a forced breath before holding Charlie’s gaze. “There were others...”

“Others?” she repeated quietly, eyes wide and unsure. 

Connor nodded. “Other...other RK800s...”

******

When Nicholas broke their connection, when he pulled them out of the garden (and pushed Connor in the opposite direction) Phillip barely registered the change. For a fraction of a second, the real world came through, in sensation at least—he could feel he was still clinging to the back of Sam’s couch, could hear Nicholas shout his name. 

But it all fell away so fast, and he was slipping, falling down where no light could reach, no sound or reality or savior. 

It wasn’t a long fall. Not this time. A minute or so, maybe (it was near impossible to tell) before he could feel Nicholas...somewhere. Things were nowhere near as clear as they had been the first time this had happened—there was hardly even a shambling of what had once been the garden, or himself in it, or Nicholas finding him. He couldn’t even really see himself anymore...couldn’t tell where he was...the memory of what had happened was starting to slip away, and he couldn’t be sure of...anything. 

Still, he could tell the change, and he could tell when Nicholas got a hold of him and started coaxing him back to reality. There was an endless comfort to his presence that broke through all the confusion, through all the chaos. He held onto that, and tried not to...tried not to remember what had brought him here. Not that  _ that  _ was particularly difficult...things always slipped away so fast here. All he could do was try to hold onto Nicholas, and keep some hold of reality.

Coming back from the void was never easy. But this time...this time it felt so much worse. 

Everything flooded back  _ too fast,  _ there was too much sound, too much light, too much—everything—it was—he had to—he had no idea what was happening as soon as he opened his eyes. Warnings flooded his blurry vision, more than usual, and his hand was on fire, and everything hurt—it was too much, it was  _ too much— _

Something was wrong with his audio components—all he could hear was a terrible mix of static and a high pitched whine—he had covered his ears at some point but the sound wouldn’t  _ stop,  _ and he didn’t know where it was coming from. Nothing was making any sense, and he was going to fall again, he was going to—

_ —dragging him out of the storage room, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t fight them— _

“Phillip?”

_ “—said he wants to try something with its thirium pump regulator, see how long it takes before the whole thing desynchronizes and initiates shutdown—” _

“N-n-no!”

_ “—it can’t be more than two minutes, that’s the standard. Besides, this thing’s been damaged too many times for it to last. It’ll go down before two minutes is up, I don’t know why he has to test that—” _

Hands on him and he had to—they were going to—

_ —pulled him out into the lab, and he flinched, trying to get away, had to  _ **_get away—_ **

“It isn’t real—”

_ “—thought you disabled its motor functions—” _

Too close, too close and—they were—

_ “—I did, but it always fights. It doesn’t matter. It isn’t strong enough, it can’t go anywhere—” _

Have to  _ get away— _

_ —older voice that was crueler, and he was  _ **_terrified—_ **

“No, Phillip—”

_ “—hurry up with that thing, I’ve got tests to run—” _

“N-n-n-no! N-no—s-s-stop, s-s-s-s-stop!”

Scrambling away, trying to—had to get away before they—

Someone was—hands on him and he had to—

_ “—taken its regulator before, why do we need to do it again if—” _

Get off me get off me—

Leavemealoneleavemealone _ notsafenotsafe _ **_notsafenotsafe—_ **

_ “—haven’t taken it at this low a level of thirium, it could permanently destabilize—” _

Someone was shouting and he couldn’t tell if it was him—glass breaking and he hit something—or—or someone—

_ “—and what do we do if it does? We don’t have another to use—” _

“S-s-s-stop! N-n-n-n-no—”

“Phillip, please—”

_ “—we keep going until it stops functioning, I don’t care how debilitated it gets—” _

Someone grabbed him, and he flinched away—

“D-d-don’t—p-p-p-p-please d-d-don’t!”

“Phillip!”

_ —felt the cold before he even opened his eyes, before it could even drag him down completely, he’d felt it, and he knew where he was being taken, but there was no way to stop it— _

“N-n-no—”

Harsh sound, like a door slamming and—

_ “—it’s doing that thing again—” _

Someone was holding him down and he was going to—

“P-p-p-p-please—d-d-don’t—n-n-n-n-no—”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

_ “—what’s it doing?—” _

_ “—it’s...it looks like it’s shutting down, but it’s readings are still going haywire—” _

Had to—had to—they were—he couldn’t move, he couldn’t get away, and they were going to—

“D-d-d-d-don’t—”

The grip wouldn’t go away—he couldn’t  _ get away— _

_ “Please,  _ Phillip—”

_ “—put the regulator back in for a few minutes and let it stabilize—” _

_ “—it didn’t work last time. Once it goes catatonic there’s no way of getting it back—” _

_ “—just do it—” _

_ —please stop, please stop, don’t—Nicholas, need Nicholas,  _ **_where’s Nicholas—_ **

“I’m here, Phillip, I’m right here,  _ please—” _

Someone was—hands holding him down and—

“N-n-n-no—n-n-no!”

Had to—to—he just wanted it to stop—he wanted—he—

Just make it  _ stop— _

_ Had to make it stop _

_ Had to— _

_ Had— _

“Phillip, no, please!”

Blurry form of someone, too close—warnings everywhere and all glitching to pieces—memories still looping and looping and looping—

**_Make it stop—_ **

_ “—shouldn’t be able to register pain, I don’t know why it’s reacting this way—” _

“Please,  _ please don’t—” _

**_StopstopstopstopSTOP—_ **

_ “—just keep going, it doesn’t matter. It can’t do anything either way—” _

“N-n-n-no! H-h-hurts—s-s-s-stop—”

They let him go and he scrambled to get away, but he couldn’t see and he didn’t know where he was—they were—he had to make it stop, he had to make it  _ stop— _ hands back, trying to stop him, trying to—

“I’m sorry, please—”

His hands were still tight over his ears, and he could feel he had pushed himself as far into a corner as he could, though he had no memory of getting there. He couldn’t see past all the warnings, not well enough to know where he was, or who was hovering near him, and he panicked, shutting his eyes and trying to get away, but he couldn’t. They were everywhere, there was nowhere to go—

_ —standing over him with a knife, covered in blue, and coming closer— _

_ —director sneering with the baton still in his hand, raising it again— _

“You’ve got to hear me—”

_ —dragged back to his feet and he could barely move— _

_ “—gonna destroy you! Don’t you give a shit?—” _

_ “—goddamn combat model—fight back!—” _

“Don’t go yet, please—please don’t do this—”

_ —trying to get back up but— _

_ —just get to Nicholas and— _

_ —stop, it had to stop before— _

**_“Phillip.”_ **

Everything ground to a halt. The warnings froze. The memories were forced back. He realized where he was, to a certain extent, curled up in the far corner of Sam’s room with his hands clamped tight over his ears, legs pulled up to his chest. He felt thirium running down his face, but he didn’t know how it got there. The sounds weren’t as blaringly loud anymore, and slowly, slowly his vision cleared from an indecipherable haze. It wasn’t by much, but it was enough...enough to finally recognize the blurry person in front of him, and the very near fear in his eyes. 

“N-N-N-N-Nicholas...” he mumbled weakly, and suddenly he was very tired, slumping forward as his system forced him into stasis.

The last thing he heard was Nicholas’ very panicked shout, something that sounded terribly close to his name.

And then there was nothing.

******

“What do you mean there were others?” Charlie asked quietly. She had pulled the car away from the side of the road, continuing rapidly toward their destination. “I thought you were the only RK800 activated, how could there be...”

Connor shook his head, still not looking at her. His attention was fixed stubbornly out the window, LED switching rapidly between yellow and red as he thought. 

“That was what I assumed,” he admitted, sounding disturbed. “When I...when I was activated, there were nine other RK800s in storage, in case I was ever compromised. They were only to be activated if that happened. Not for any other reason.”

“But they sent...”

“After I deviated,” Connor clarified. “They only activated him because I deviated. But the others...there were others already alive when I was activated...I don’t...I only know of one of them, but I don’t know his serial number, or...he has no reason to be alive, and neither do the others...”

“What—what do you mean?” Charlie asked quietly, her voice shaking. “If the—was he one of them that was in the garden?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

Connor went rigid. “He’s...very recognizable.”

Charlie glanced over at him worriedly. “How—”

“Charlie, please, I don’t know what they did to him—”

“What does that even mean?”

“They were—they were using him for something the day I was activated,” he said, voice thick. “I don’t know what for, but he tried to escape...and I saw him. He didn’t make it out...”

Charlie was quiet for several seconds as he stared out the window. “How...how do you know it was the same one from the Tower?”

He didn’t answer. His LED flashed red and he clenched his jaw, keeping his gaze firmly fixed out the window. 

“Connor...”

“Because he recognized me,” he finally answered, his voice rough. “He—he wanted my help, and I couldn’t move, I couldn’t—”

“Oh, Connor, it’s not...that’s not your fault, not—whatever time you’re thinking about, it—” she cut off, fumbling for the proper words. “I’m just trying to understand...you said they shouldn’t be alive...?”

He nodded, hands fidgeting in his lap for a moment as he hesitated in reply. They passed under a bridge and into Illinois, but neither of them made any comment. Reality had come crashing down far too suddenly for things to go back to normal just yet. Charlie looked over at him again as the silence dragged on, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. 

“I left them there,” he finally said, almost a whisper, LED flashing red in the reflection of the window, spinning rapidly as his voice shook slightly. “In the Tower, the night we rescued the others. I could have saved them, I could have gotten them out of that storage room...but I didn’t. I thought that by now, Cyberlife would have...disposed of them. But it appears I was wrong.”

Charlie tightened her grip on the wheel, unsure what to think of any of the things he had apparently been keeping from her. “So...they’re alive?” she asked.

He nodded quickly. “At least...some of them are.”

“Connor, you’re freaking me out with how cryptic you’re being,” Charlie said shakily, and it might have been a comic remark if she didn’t sound so honestly scared. “I still don’t understand what happened...what’s going to happen to you now? Is this going to be a consistent problem or—”

“I don’t  _ know,” _ he cut her off, frustration clear in the sharpness of his tone. “I don’t know how this happened, or how  _ any _ of them are alive—or what they could do. I don’t even know why this happened.”

“How many of them are there?”

“There were...there were ten when I was activated, but there were only two other RK800s and an RK900 in the garden just now...the others must be...”

Charlie’s hands tightened on the wheel, and she glanced over at him suddenly. “Okay, okay, brushing aside the revelation that there’s an RK _900..._ what—did they do anything to you?”

Connor hesitated, still looking out the window. “No...”

“Connor.”

“They weren’t exactly...pleased with my presence,” he said, looking at his hands. “But the RK900 broke the connection before he could...he grabbed the others and then...pushed me away, essentially. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“And do you think they would...” she paused, hands tightening on the wheel once more. “Do you think they would want to hurt you?”

He was quiet. “He...well...not the one I recognize, but...”

Charlie sighed, the fear returning to her voice. “Connor, I know you’re hiding something. Please, just—whatever it is, would you just tell me? I can’t—I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

He looked over at her briefly, LED flashing bright red, but still he hesitated. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before he looked away, back at his hands in his lap. His voice was low when he spoke again, clear that he didn’t want to tell her (and he was afraid).

“-60 is alive.”


	4. all ends in tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hey, look we hit the cliffhanger ending of part one of this series, lol.
> 
> don't read part one, iz shit. but uh...maybe read part two? that one's...pretty decent. at least i think it is. eh, whatever. if you've made it this far, maybe you did read it. hey, at least you made it to the end of this note, good for you. that's progress dude. you did it. fics are long and stressful, i totally get it. find yourself somethin' short and fluffy to read, dude, everyone needs that once in a while. lord knows i do. can't write as much angsty shit as i do without reading a SHIT TON of fluff on the side...often...okay, daily.
> 
> jesus, this note got away from me. well, i hope you enjoyed it. thanks for reading my garbage. i'm gonna crawl back into my crypt now. peace.

It was quiet in the house. Deadly quiet. No voices, no movement, no sounds of any kind of life at all. Occasionally wood would creak, wind would push against the shutters and break the haunting silence, but besides that almost no sound came from the place. An indeterminate swath of time had passed since shouting had broken out inside, though none of the neighbors had taken any notice, and night had fallen even deeper since then, smothering any chance of discovery. The strange happenings of the last day went unnoticed by the rest of the neighborhood, as they almost always did. Out there, there was nothing but peaceful silence and the occasional wild animal, scurrying about in quiet normalcy.

Inside the house was of course a completely different story. 

It was not a large house. Most of it was taken up by one main room—a living room of sorts, with a shabby couch—one of those odd corner sectional pieces that sank in all the wrong places, and had clearly seen better days. A coffee table sat at an awkward distance from it, usually covered in old digital magazines and remotes to devices that weren’t in use anymore. A kitchen was crammed into the back corner, and there was a small hallway that branched to the left, sectioning off into a few small, closet-like rooms. The doors were usually open, miscellaneous contents spilling out into the hallway and the living room in the perfect picture of frantic disorganization. All signs lead to a rarely present, somewhat hapless owner, with a few unexpected guests staying around, judging by the increased disarray and the stack of blankets discarded on the kitchen counter. 

And yet, even given the haphazard lifestyle of the owner, this amount of destruction seemed too great to be a regular occurrence. 

It almost looked like a storm had blown through, tossing everything aside and throwing dirt around with no end. The couch rested at a crooked angle on the rug, as if it had been pushed aside. The coffee table was similarly pushed away, its messy contents spilling onto the floor. Shattered glass covered the floor near the kitchen, the broken remains of what could have been a glass scattered in a dangerous pattern across a wide stretch of the room. The various odds and ends that spoke of a distracted owner were now tossed around in odd patterns. 

Blue blood trailed across the floor. 

Thomas stared at the gun on the ground near the front door, fiddling with a bullet between his fingers. An eerily calm look was settling into his features. His expression was almost forcefully passive, blank—if it weren’t for the rapid spinning of his LED, and the fresh thirium running down his face, and the dangerously hardened look in his eyes, he might have looked completely normal. 

But his hands were shaking, and he had not moved in over an hour. He only sat, assembling and disassembling the gun in front of him in an effort to ignore the warning in the corner of his vision regarding his stress levels (ninety-two percent, down from ninety-seven earlier...progress was progress, he supposed). 

A drop of thirium hit the floor. He hardly noticed. 

He found he could no longer hear Nicholas or Phillip in the other room. Phillip’s shouts (and Nicholas’ attempts to calm him down) had long drifted away into a thick, uneasy silence, broken only by the sounds of passing cars and electronics booting up occasionally. When this oppressive silence had fallen, Thomas couldn’t say, but he had taken the gun apart several times, which meant it had to be at least fifteen minutes ago by now, that things had settled. Time had truly fallen to shambles as soon as he had opened his eyes in the garden, found Phillip collapsed only a few feet away, and—

His stress levels jumped to ninety-four percent. He picked up the gun and started reassembling it, putting the bullet back into its place and ignoring the tremor in his fingers. Another drop of thirium rolled off his chin and hit the floor. 

Nicholas had taken Phillip’s hand, after their escape—he had interfaced with him to stop him from...from disappearing. Thomas knew then that it would be a bad night, likely with intense bursts of panic and plenty of time on watch duty, waiting for the human to inevitably turn up at a bad time. He had been prepared at that moment to stand guard as he always did, ready to take out whoever could possibly come for them before they could reach Nicholas or Phillip. He had been ready to fall into that same rhythm he knew too well—scan, check, remember, repeat—it was almost second nature by now. 

Still, even knowing things would likely be worse, he had not expected things to go as sour as they did. Phillip always panicked, but...never like this. 

When Thomas had opened his eyes to the real world again, he saw Phillip keel over, and Nicholas dart across the room to catch him before he hit the ground. The blizzard of the garden still blowing in his mind, he had forced himself to focus past the mounting warnings, search the house for intruders and shut down the lingering embers of the garden’s influence. Nicholas told him to keep watch, and so he had grabbed his gun, ready to hunker in his corner until he had calmed Phillip down. 

Neither of them had expected things to take such a turn. 

There was a distant sound, from somewhere outside, and Thomas tensed. Quickly putting the last of the gun back together, he cocked it and pointed it at the door, dragging his programming back into line and running preconstructions. The warning in the corner of his vision about his stress levels would not disappear—it hovered insistently, blinking as the number ticked up another notch. The gun felt heavy and wrong in his hand, and the temptation to turn it on himself was becoming a little too real. 

Shaking his head at himself, he focused his attention solely on the door, and the potentials he had should someone burst in. Footsteps were shuffling closer, a rattling of the doorknob, then a fumbling with keys, and the door swung inward. The figure silhouetted in the waning moonlight froze immediately, hand still on the doorknob. 

“Thomas?” they called warily.

The human. He let the gun fall, LED briefly switching to yellow as he sent Nicholas a message that they had returned. Turning his attention to the gun in his lap (and avoiding the still blinking warning of his stress levels) he started taking it apart again, hands shaking slightly. The human continued to linger in the doorway, staring oddly at him in the darkness. 

“Why are you bleeding?” they asked after a pause, shutting the door and taking off their coat. 

Thomas made no indication he had heard them, eyes still fixed on the gun as he disassembled it. There was thirium on his hand, though he had no recollection of how it got there. His stress levels dropped a percentage point, but it did nothing to ease the strange tumbling of thoughts running through his mind. The human was still standing too close, watching him with their characteristic nervousness. It seemed they would not take the hint, tonight. 

“Where are the others?” they asked, looking around the room. 

His eyes snapped to theirs, hands freezing where they had begun to put the gun back together. “No.”

The human stared. “No?”

He shook his head, loading the bullets back into the gun but leaving the safety on this time, setting it on the floor to get it out of his hands. A memory flickered through his vision, one of his own, weeks ago when they had first come to this house, and very little had made sense. Kneeling in the snow outside the house and trying desperately to get rid of thoughts that weren’t his own, delete memories and go back to nothingness. 

He got the sudden desire to throw the gun as far from him as he could, hands fidgeting with the need for movement, but he did not. Clenching his hands into fists, he looked up at the human again. 

“You stay here,” he said quietly, voice low. “Not by them.”

They glanced toward the other room, worry flitting through their expression before they nodded. “Fine. But you need thirium, and a patch job, from what I can see. That’s all I’m going to get, I’m not going near them.”

A frown twisted his features for a moment, but he offered no reply, reaching slowly for the gun again and beginning to take it apart. The damage was not so bad, he knew. Thirium made things look worse than they were—he hadn’t even received a warning about the damage...although...that could have been due to his stress levels being so high. He could not run a diagnostic—not with his stress still stuck at a stubborn ninety-four percent with no signs of lowering. 

It hardly mattered to him what damage he had sustained. There had been worse before, there would be worse again. 

The human reappeared from where they had disappeared, a bag of thirium and a towel in hand. They held them out, hovering a few feet away from him and still standing. Putting the gun down once more, and ignoring the shake in his hands, he took the thirium and looked away. But they sat down across from him, leaning on the wall closer to the door and watching him carefully. He avoided their gaze, drinking the thirium and going back to putting the gun back together. 

“What happened?” they asked after a moment, thankfully keeping their voice down. 

He did not answer, attention still fixed on the gun as he finished reassembling it, staring at it strangely. There was a darkness to his gaze, a sadness near despair combined with something...dangerously empty. 

The human reached over, pulling the gun from his lax grip and tossing it aside. He flinched at the sudden motion, but offered no resistance, and that was worrisome more than any other action he could have taken. After a pause that was far too long, his eyes darted over to the gun, fingers fidgeting as his LED spun a lazy yellow before jittering back to red. 

“Don’t let me get that back,” he practically growled, clenching and unclenching his hands and staring at a spot of thirium on the floor. 

“Not a chance, bud,” the human said, still watching him closely. 

They did not ask again what had happened, nor did they ask why he had been staring at the gun. A few weeks’ time had likely told them a great deal about the androids hiding out in their house, dealing with strange little traumas that short time and desperate situations couldn’t address. There was a look of understanding in their eyes, a non-judgmental calm that came only with experience with this sort of thing. 

Thomas would have asked them about it, if he could focus on anything but the incessant blinking of his stress levels, still stuck at ninety-four percent. His thoughts were far too muddled down by strange whispers and old memories for him to wonder at the human’s almost too calm demeanor. All he could bring himself to do was stare at his hands and try to keep his gaze away from the gun—and the dozens of ways he could get it back, take it from them and put it to his chin and—

A jagged prompt appeared in the corner of his vision, interrupting the rising chorus of destruction for just a moment. It was a short message, just a confirmation from Nicholas that he knew the human was in the house, nothing more. Thomas frowned slightly at it, displeased with the lack of information, but brushed the thought aside quickly. There was little point in wondering at Nicholas’ motivation for keeping things so vague—it would only spike his stress levels, and that was decidedly  _ not  _ what he needed at the moment. 

“They know you’re here,” he said flatly, voice sounding strangely hoarse to his ears, despite the fact that such a thing was impossible. 

He saw the human nod out of the corner of his vision. “That’s good, but I’m not going anywhere.”

He glanced up at them, confused. “Why?”

They hesitated a moment, eyes flitting to his LED before coming to meet his gaze head on. “You shouldn’t be alone with a gun right now,” they said quietly, voice almost gentle. “I don’t need to read your stress levels to know that, Thomas.”

Shifting uncomfortably, he nodded and looked down, forcefully keeping his gaze from the weapon too close, abrupt end too real, too possible. His mind was still racing, thoughts wandering in an ever tightening circular path that had only one end, and it was oblivion. 

“You’re still bleeding, you know,” the human said after a heavy silence. “Take that hat off and I can probably stop it.”

He shook his head slowly. “Broken plating—from...getting shot. When...” he trailed off, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the other room. “Nicked a thirium line. It’s already—already self repairing. Slow—from stress.”

“You still haven’t fixed the gunshot wound?”

“No.”

“Wh—Thomas, why?”

He shrugged, clenching and unclenching his hands once again. “No point. Biocomponents work—it doesn’t matter.”

The human stared at him dubiously for a few seconds before they sighed and seemed to give up. “What’s your stress at?”

He hesitated. “Ninety-four.”

_ “Shit,”  _ they said emphatically. “Should have asked that earlier...”

They pushed up onto their feet roughly, muttering curses under their breath and grabbing the gun from where they had discarded it. They walked away with it, but he didn’t bother to watch them. He didn’t want to know where they put it. If his stress levels hit one hundred, and he didn’t know where the gun was, it would take him longer to find it—an opportunity for someone to (hopefully) stop him. 

Because despite his clear tendencies and endless stream of dangerous thoughts, he  _ didn’t  _ want to die. No...no, he didn’t want to die. Not...completely, anyway. It was all a great mess in his mind, of course, and very little of it made any sort of sense...but the logical portions of his thoughts (when he found them) did not want to die. 

He wanted to live. In the grand, vague sense of it, he wanted to live. Broken memories and faulty stress programming be damned, he  _ wanted to live.  _

The gun just seemed so much simpler. 

Still, he did not want to be able to find it. The small portion of him that retained some cohesive thought did not want to pull the trigger. It was just a matter of keeping that portion of his thoughts in control, and forcing the others back down where they belonged. 

“How long have you been here?” the human asked suddenly, and only then did he realize they had reappeared next to him, sitting on the ground once more. 

He frowned at their question, looking at his hands. “Don’t know. Over an hour. Supposed to keep watch.”

“With your stress at ninety-four? I don’t think so.”

“Was at ninety-seven,” he mumbled without really meaning to. “When...”

“Ninety-seven! Thomas how—”

They cut off as there was a sound from the other room, something like a thud. Immediately Thomas was on alert, dragging himself to his feet with slightly uncoordinated movements, like he was fighting his system’s undeniable urge to remain on the floor for an indeterminate amount of time. His LED resumed its frantic red chase, and (unbeknownst to the human, of course) his stress levels spiked back up to the invariably more dangerous ninety-six percent. The warning in the corner of his vision became more dire, but his gaze was fixed on the doorway through which Nicholas had disappeared what seemed like hours before. 

Sure enough, it opened a moment later, and Nicholas appeared, expression stalled somewhere between hardened anger and despair. For someone who was always painfully composed, he looked to be in disarray. His usually well kept clothes were rumpled, and there was thirium on his hands, appearing in strange pockets on his shirt and his jacket. 

That was too much thirium. 

More than anything, however, it was his eyes that showed something was wrong—they were almost always cold, and calculating, deciphering everyone and everything in the room for threats, for danger, for the smallest thing that could set Phillip off. Now...now they just looked tired, and heavy, and very close to afraid. 

He looked briefly at the human, but his attention quickly shifted to Thomas. A flash of alarm came into his eyes, and his LED spun yellow briefly as he scanned him before falling immediately back to red. He quickly shut the door to the other room and came closer. 

“I need to speak with you,” he said, voice surprisingly calm. 

Thomas said nothing, only stared back at him, trying (and failing) to dismiss the warning for his stress levels. A thousand potential reasons for Nicholas’ continued vagueness came to mind—none of them were particularly good. His eyes flickered to the door for a moment, but it was the human who broke the tense silence. They stood up, coming over to them and looking at Nicholas as if he had lost his mind. 

“Speak to—” they sputtered incredulously, crossing their arms. “No, you’re gonna tell me what the  _ hell _ is going on here.”

“Thomas, it’s important,” Nicholas said, completely ignoring them. 

“Hey!” they practically shouted, but they had the sense to keep their voice down. “Did you hear me? I need an explanation, right now, and you’ve gotta wait until his stress goes down from ninety-four—”

“Ninety-six,” Thomas interjected quietly. 

“You—” they cut off to look over at him. “Ninety-six?”

He said nothing. 

“Look—whatever the number, you’re not helping,” they said, shaking their head. “Anything above seventy is bad for long term memory stability, anything above eighty speeds the corruption along, and anything above  _ ninety  _ is borderline suicidal. You  _ need  _ to calm down.”

_ “Sam,” _ Nicholas cut in before they could continue to work themself up. “I know his stress levels. I know the consequences. I’m not trying to push him any further than he’s already been pushed.”

“Then what the hell—”

“This is too important—”

“What could possibly—”

“Someone activated the Amanda program,” Thomas said quietly.

Silence fell. The human looked at Thomas, mouth hanging open a little in surprise, but he offered them no further comment, his gaze stubbornly fixed on his shoes. His stress levels remained stuck at ninety-six. He could not see the gun, but his hands were shaking. Pre-constructions wouldn’t stop running, telling him all the ways he could try (and fail) to find it in time to—

“Thomas.”

He looked up quickly, and Nicholas was watching him, a careful wariness to his expression. They stared at each other for a few seconds, the human nervously watching them, almost waiting for something to happen. But nothing came of the moment. Clenching his hands into fists, he looked away, forcing the plague of thoughts down, down where they couldn’t make him do something he would regret. 

“Who activated the program?” the human asked, their tone shifting to something far more serious, surprisingly steady for such a nervous character. 

“We don’t know,” Nicholas answered quietly. “But there are only so many people who could access it, unless someone has broken into Cyberlife.”

“That’s not possible, they shut the Tower down the day after the protests. No one’s been allowed in or out since then, unless you’re the cleanup crew,” they said as they began to pace the length of the small room. “There’s no way someone could make it up to the testing floor without clearance, and without someone noticing. The only people given full reign of the Tower are the guards and certain members of Jericho.”

“They would have no reason to try to control us...or they shouldn’t.”

“They  _ wouldn’t, _ is the point.”

Nicholas frowned. “I suppose you’re right. But how else could the program have been triggered if not in the Tower?”

“It couldn’t have been a remote access, the program is too large for that to work. Even on the broadest of networks, to establish that kind of stable connection would be damn near impossible, especially with all the firewalls and protections that program has in place. The activation had to come from someone directly tapping into the program.”

“None of us triggered it.”

“Connor,” Thomas said darkly. 

“He wouldn’t,” Nicholas answered with a shake of his head. “He was terrified in there. There was no way he would have tried to access the program, let alone pull you two in.”

“It pulled you all in?” the human asked, stopping. 

“Not exactly,” Nicholas said, shaking his head. “I have no access to the program. It was never implemented in my code, and so the connection had no chance of pulling me in.”

“But it pulled the others.”

He nodded. “However they achieved it, the program activated on Connor’s end...and then they somehow established connection with Phillip, then Thomas, pulling them in as well. I only got them out by—”

“Interfacing and breaking the program’s hold,” the human finished, pacing once more. “Thomas has the code, and he’s used the exit, so he was your best bet through the program’s defenses.”

Nicholas nodded. “And the programming that remains for Phillip is too weak to hold him in place well, and not for very long. He was breaking the entire simulation by the time I got in. It was simple enough to break the hold, but...”

The human watched him as he trailed off, a strange familiar sadness in their eyes. “He got dragged down by it,” they said quietly. 

Again, Nicholas only nodded. 

“And then he lashed out at you both when you pulled him out,” they went on, glancing at Thomas. “That’s what happened to you, isn’t it?”

“He didn’t mean to,” Thomas muttered with a frown, his voice still hoarse and stilted. “He didn’t know it was us.”

“Where—is he okay?”

Thomas said nothing. Nicholas was staring at the ground, that uncategorizable sadness returning to his eyes, fracturing and softening the carefully placed facade he usually upheld. His LED flashed red, spinning and spinning as he stared at the ground. 

“He...” he whispered, his voice low and broken somewhere. “He tried to kill himself.”

The air was gone from the room. The human stared, eyes wide, at Nicholas for several seconds, despite his continued refusal to meet their eyes. They looked at the thirium on his jacket, and the already fading trails of it on the floor, and on Thomas as well. 

“I found him before it could completely take him,” Nicholas went on as the silence dragged. “But he panicked...I don’t know what he believed was happening...he attacked, as much as he could, anyway. I managed to...get him to the other room. And then he...”

The human watched him quietly, something close to horror in their nervous eyes. “Is he...”

But Nicholas shook his head. “He slipped into stasis about an hour ago,” he said distantly, expression strange. “But I don’t know if he’ll...if he’ll wake up again.”

They all went quiet, the weight of endless possibilities dragging them down. None of them wanted to imagine the thousands of ways Phillip could be lost forever, drowned in some shamble of a program that had only ever been used to torture him. But it was a possibility that was all too real, one that very well could occur at any moment, if they weren’t careful. 

“We need to find who activated the program,” Nicholas said, voice low as he looked at Thomas once more. “We also need to find Connor, and make sure he uses the exit and destroys the program. If he doesn’t soon, then whoever is taking advantage of the program has immediate access to it through him. They could control him, and pull you and Phillip in with him. They could trap you all there.”

“What are you going to do?” the human asked.

“Find Connor—we need to see what he knows and if there’s anyone near him who could have activated the program.”

“She wouldn’t know how,” Thomas said darkly. 

“I don’t mean her,” Nicholas sighed, shaking his head again. “Connor has contact with Jericho leadership, and by extension Jericho. If anyone has enemies in high places, it’s him. He has also had the most prolonged contact with humans and the program itself. If someone wanted to take advantage of the program’s use, they would go to him first. We have to find out what he knows.”

“Do you know where he is?” the human had begun to pace once more, arms crossed. 

“I didn’t have much time to try to find out before getting them out, but I have a rough estimate.”

“Where is he?”

“When the program activated, he was somewhere in northwest Indiana, likely moving further west. The woman is probably with him, but I want to check her house to confirm, see if we can find any evidence of where they could have gone from there.”

“Then let’s go,” Thomas said, and they both looked at him. “Any more time we waste here is time they use to get further from us. Her house is only a few blocks away, and we can search it easily.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” the human interjected. “Anyone could see you, and with how fragile things are right now...a bunch of androids breaking into someone’s house isn’t going to go over well.”

“It wouldn’t be breaking in,” Thomas countered, pulling something from his pocket. “I have a key.”

The human stared at the little silver key for several seconds before shaking their head. “Thomas, that’s still breaking in. She didn’t give you that.”

“I have the memory to prove it,” he said, something off about his tone, but he continued regardless, eyes on the ground. “Anyone who asked wouldn’t be able to tell the memory isn’t mine. She showed him exactly where the key was, and told him he could go there if something happened. We have our alibi.”

“That’s...actually good,” the human said, though they didn’t sound too pleased to be saying it. “Fuck, alright—fine. But what are you going to do about Phillip?”

“Bring him with, of course,” Nicholas answered.

“But he—”

“He has as much stake in this as the rest of us,” Nicholas cut them off, his voice sharp. “And I can’t leave him. If anything else goes wrong...no one else stands a chance. He won’t let anyone else in. If he gets pulled under again...” he paused for a moment, looking away. “If there’s any chance of saving him...it has to be me. I can’t afford to leave him while we search for Connor. The risk is too great.”

The human watched him, the nervousness coming back into their expression, alongside a deep set concern which was slightly jarring to Thomas. It was easy to forget the human had known Nicholas and Phillip for months, had helped them when Cyberlife was still torturing them, had helped them escape and even find Thomas. They had done a great deal more than the average human.

“Just be careful, please,” they said, imploring. “I know this is important, and I know what you have at risk, but for the love of god take care of each other. I don’t want to see  _ him,” _ they jabbed a finger in Thomas’ direction, “dead any more than I want to see you or Phillip dead. Don’t let it get this far again, or so help me I will put you all in deep stasis until you rot.”

Nicholas almost smirked, lips quirking upward for a fraction of a second. “I’m always careful, Sam.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the same spiel every time,” they grumbled, waving him off. “I can’t convince you of shit, you’re too fucking stubborn. Just...call me, if something goes wrong.”

“Of course.”

“I  _ mean it, _ Nicholas.”

“I know.”

They harrumphed, but offered no further comment, disappearing into the tiny kitchen and leaving the androids to themselves. Nicholas and Thomas stared at each other for a few seconds, the weight of the coming hours sinking in. 

Then Thomas nodded him forward, and they both turned, heading for the room where Phillip was, reluctantly beginning their search for Connor and the woman who trailed after him like a disease.

******

Charlie pulled into the parking lot of the motel just as the sun broke the horizon line, throwing the entire pop up highway town into a foggy orange haze. It was a small place on the side of one of many interstates around, surrounded by a few fast food restaurants and a lonely gas station. There were only a handful of cars in the lot, but the vacancy sign was lit in bright neon, and that was all she really cared about. Grabbing a spot near the lobby, she threw the car in park and looked around, rubbing tiredly at her eyes.

“This does not look like the safest of locations,” Connor said, looking out the window with a slight frown.

She sighed, pulling her hair up and fixing him with a stale look. “It’s just a shitty motel, Con, it’ll do fine for one night. Or...day, I guess.”

He offered no reply, watching her quietly as she got out of the car before pulling on his beanie and following her. 

The cold was just as harsh here as it was in Detroit, whipping wind and harsh flecks of snow swirling around them as they shuffled their way from the car toward the motel lobby building. Despite the early hour, cars and semi trucks continued to fly past on the interstate behind them, the roar of the tires covering up any quiet sounds of nature there might have been. Added together with the blaring music from the nearby gas station and the stiff silence between them, it made an almost torturously uncomfortable atmosphere.

Charlie tried to brush it off as she entered the lobby, Connor following close behind her with a bag over his arm. It was surprisingly well lit inside, and looked...acceptably clean. It certainly wasn’t going to get a five star rating, but there wasn’t any garbage on the ground, and it didn’t smell  _ too  _ bad. It would do for the day.

A few moments later, they had a key to a room and the rather timely advice to not order any food from the fast food places nearby. The man at the counter had been...alarmingly adamant about it, warning them about how apparently disgusting the food was. After reassuring him they would avoid the restaurants, he let them go, pointing them in the proper direction and going back to the terminal at the desk. 

The strange encounter did nothing to ease the tension clearly visible in Connor’s expression. He had been tense for the last several hours (with good reason) and so Charlie had made the decision to stop off for the night and regroup, try to get some actual sleep and then sort out what they were going to do next. She had hoped Connor would offer more explanation as to what had happened in the garden, but he was practically silent, save for the occasional remark on the safety of the motel. He said nothing as she got a room, and was quiet as they walked over to it, following silently after her with the bag and looking around the parking lot with poorly veiled suspicion. 

He glanced over at her suddenly, catching her staring, and she looked away, fumbling with the key to unlock their room. After a few awkward seconds, the lock gave and she practically rushed into the room, flipping the lights on quickly. Connor followed her inside, dropping the bag and looking around the room in silence. Charlie wandered over to the window, pulling the shades closed and glancing around, trying to find something else for her to do.

There was a tension in the air that wouldn’t go away. She hated it.

“You have questions.”

Charlie jumped, turning to look at him from the window. He was standing a few feet from the door, beanie clenched tight in his hands as he watched her, LED spinning a steady yellow. The tension lingered in his expression, in the way he stood very still with his hands all bunched up in his hat. He looked more spooked than she had ever seen him, if she were honest, and Connor didn’t scare easily. 

“That’s understatement of the year, Connor,” she said quietly, shaking her head and flopping onto the bed. “I’ve got more questions than I can even think of, let alone actually ask you.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to her, face hidden from view. “Me too,” he muttered.

“You probably have way more questions on your end, Mr. Prototype. I do have quite a few, though.”

“Perhaps we can make a deal then.”

She smirked, rolling to her side to look at him. He had turned slightly to face her once again, expression a little calmer than before. “Okay. What’s the deal?”

He shrugged. “You ask a question and I ask a question. We each have to answer to the best of our ability, regardless of the question. Or how much we don’t want to answer it.”

“That seems simple enough,” she mused, reaching for his hand. “This could go on for hours, you know.”

“We have time.”

“You’re right.”

He sighed, shoulders sagging a little, making him look uncharacteristically weary. “You go first.”

Charlie hesitated, moving closer to him so they were sitting side by side. “I can ask anything, right?”

“I’m assuming you don’t want that to count as your first question.”

“Connor.”

He almost smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yes, you can ask anything. And each of us has to answer, no matter the question.”

“Okay...” she sighed, swinging their hands for a minute as she thought. “This is harder than I thought.”

“I could ask first, if you would like.”

“Hell no, I want my turn.”

“Very well then.”

They went quiet once more, but it wasn’t as pressing of a silence. There was some of that comfortable lightness back. Granted, it was only a small amount, and there were plenty of terrible things they still had to think about, but it was just slightly better, slightly less tense. They were at least talking again, instead of stewing in their own individual paranoia.

Charlie drew lazy patterns on the back of Connor’s hand as she thought, trying to sift through the dozens of things she wanted to know. He waited quietly, watching her fingers with a passive expression. The silence would have to be broken by her, this time. 

“Let’s start with an easy one,” she said after a moment, keeping her voice light. “Hmm...what’s your favorite color?”

“My favorite color?” Connor repeated flatly, sounding surprised. 

“Gotta answer the question.”

“That seems like a strange choice for your first question—”

“Humor me, wonder boy.”

He gave her an odd look before sighing, expression slipping into that deeply analytical look he got when he was trying to puzzle something out. There was a slight frown to it, and his LED was already spinning like crazy, changing fast between blue and yellow. He took everything so seriously...

“Gray,” he said suddenly.

“Gray?”

“Is that your second question?”

“Connor, gray is  _ not  _ a color.”

“Of course it is.”

“In what world—”

“Perhaps it’s a shade of blue,” he said quietly, tilting his head and looking more closely at her. “I can’t quite tell, to be honest. It changes in the light.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds, Charlie completely baffled. Then it clicked, and her eyes widened, cheeks getting embarrassingly red. 

“Connor, are you—”

“It’s my turn to ask a question,” he cut her off seriously, but there was the faintest trace of a glint in his eyes (meaning that  _ yes,  _ that was exactly what he had been referring to). 

“Ugh,  _ fine,”  _ Charlie groaned, resuming her aimless doodling on his hand. 

“I’m afraid mine might be more serious...”

“Go for it, I don’t mind.”

“Your sister,” he started, watching her hands. “Miranda. If she hates androids...why do you want her to meet me?” 

She went still, thoughts running out of her head and leaving her...stunned, really. “She doesn’t...” she paused with a sigh, shaking her head. “I don’t think she... _ hates  _ androids, it’s just...”

“She blames Lily for your father’s death.”

“Yeah.”

“And so she is...uncomfortable with androids in general?”

“I...guess that’s a good way of putting it.”

Connor was quiet, a slight frown to his expression as he stared at the wall, thoughts elsewhere. “It’s your turn,” he said after a moment.

“Right...” she breathed, leaning on his shoulder a little as she hesitated. “I have a more serious question as well.”

“I assumed you would.”

Charlie bit her lip, still not wanting to voice the question he likely knew she was going to ask. It had been hovering in the air for the past several hours, just waiting to be answered, if it could be. But she was a coward, and...

“How can he be alive?” she asked quietly, her voice shaking slightly. “I shot him, how could he...he  _ died...” _

Connor took her hand from where it had frozen, squeezing it for a few seconds as she trailed off. “I don’t know how he’s alive. I suppose if...if someone replaced the damaged biocomponents and managed to get him to wake up, then he could...it’s hardly common for this sort of thing to happen, but...well, Markus did something similar after the police shot him. I suppose he could have put himself back together somehow, and...now he’s fine. Or alive, at least.”

“Your turn,” she said quietly, having nothing else to say in reply. 

“Your father,” Connor immediately began, perhaps trying to distract her. “What was his opinion of androids?”

Charlie hummed. “He didn’t have a whole lot of confrontation with androids, besides Lily. By the time Cyberlife moved into Illinois, he was already sick, so...” she trailed off for a moment with a sigh. “He would have loved you, Connor, I’m sure of it. Although, he probably would have made some terrible jokes...his sense of humor was...just the worst.”

“I would have liked to meet him.”

She looked over at him with a sad sort of smile. “I would have liked that too.”

“It’s your turn again.”

“What...” she paused, frowning as she tried to come up with the proper phrasing. “When you said earlier that the other RK800, the one that tried to escape the day you were activated...you said that he was still in the Tower when we were there, and that we...left them there. If that’s true, then how could he have gotten out?”

“I don’t know how he escaped,” Connor said, frustration coming into his tone just a little. “When I saw him the day I was activated, they—”

He cut off abruptly, clenching his hands into fists. Charlie looked up at him, but his eyes were somewhere else, LED spinning a fast yellow with occasional flashes of red. 

“There was a storage room in Cyberlife Tower where they kept all the RK800s before being activated,” he said after a moment. “That’s where my memory starts. When I...woke up, I suppose, I knew there were two other androids activated in the room, but I couldn’t determine which two before the technicians made me leave the room. I assume that he was one of them, but I don’t know...which one. But I was...I was in the lab just outside, and they were updating my programming, and...”

He paused again, and Charlie took his hand, leaning her head on his shoulder. For all its simplicity, it seemed to calm him for a moment. 

“The storage room had a set of glass doors that were locked with a hand scanner,” he continued, his voice low and distant. “There’s no way out from the inside unless you had access to that panel, and only the technicians had access.”

“So he was...”

“He was trapped,” Connor said with a nod. “I don’t know why he chose that day to try to escape, but when they were updating my programming in the lab, he...He broke the glass door. There was no way he was going to make it out, I don’t know why he did it, but he hit the glass hard enough to crack it. They caught him, of course...before he even had a chance. All I heard was the door break, and then he was  _ screaming,  _ and—”

He cut off once more, shaking his head and looking down. Charlie put her arm around him, dragging him a little closer. He leaned into the touch without thought, falling quiet for several seconds. For a moment, the only sound was the wind outside, the trucks passing by and the hail-like snow hitting the windows. Charlie said nothing, waiting for him to continue, trying to wrap her head around everything his words implied. 

“I don’t know what they did to him after that day,” he went on softly, eyes still fixed on the ground. “I didn’t even  _ think  _ about it...I was distracted so quickly by all the missions they gave me that I didn’t even consider...but if he’s alive, then he must have escaped somehow. He looked...much worse than he did when I was activated, when I saw him in the garden. I don’t know what they did to him, but...it was awful, and I just  _ stood there—” _

“Connor, that isn’t your fault,” Charlie said, shaking her head and holding tighter to his hand. “Nothing they did to him is your fault.”

“But I could have  _ stopped  _ it.”

“How? Con, you said it yourself, there was no way out of that room unless you were a technician. Even if you had found a way to get him out of there, how could you have gotten him out of the Tower? They would have killed you both, there’s no way you would have made it even if you had tried.”

“But now he’s alive, and I don’t know what he’s going to do,” he said roughly, the frustration and tension coming back into his voice. “I don’t know what any of them are going to do. I don’t know who activated the program, or how they all got access, or who any of them really are, I—”

“Okay, calm down. Freaking out isn’t going to get you any answers.”

He went quiet. “You’re right.”

“We’ll figure it out, okay? We’ve figured everything out so far. Hell, you survived a goddamn revolution, Connor, I’m pretty sure you can handle a few dopplegängers.”

“They’re hardly doppelgängers. We just happen to share a model number. It’s the same as any AX400 meeting another of its model.”

“Yeah, but Con, they literally could have replaced you, if you died.”

“I suppose you’re right...” he said, voice low. “But it wouldn’t be me, if they had. Whoever they chose to replace me would have had my memories, but that would be it. No matter what Cyberlife tried to pass off, it would have been another android with my memories on file and nothing more...”

“Like -60,” Charlie said quietly.

“He...yes, like him. Although I don’t know how many of my memories he had...”

“Enough to find me...” she mumbled, falling silent before looking over at him again. “He didn’t even try to pass off as you, he just...do you think he’ll...”

“He was not happy to see me in the garden. It’s likely they will try to find us.”

“All of them?”

“They’re together.”

“How do you know?”

He shook his head. “The RK900 is with the...the damaged RK800,” he said. “I believe he...is protecting him. And -60 seemed to know him as well. If they’re going to come looking for me, then they’re likely  _ all  _ going to, together.”

“But you haven’t done anything!”

“I left them to die, Charlie,” he said bluntly, meeting her eyes for a moment. “Whether we’re talking about before the revolution or after, I could have helped them and I didn’t. They  _ know _ that, there’s no way that they don’t. And -60...”

“-60 is my fault, not yours,” Charlie said sharply. “You can’t keep blaming yourself for everything, Connor, it’s bullshit, and it isn’t helping.”

“There’s no one else to blame. No one else knows they exist. I did from the beginning, but I didn’t  _ do  _ anything.”

“Okay, okay, just—”  she cut off, running her hands through her hair in frustration. “They haven’t done anything yet, you don’t know for sure that they want to...do anything. They could be just as confused by what happened as you are, that doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re going to attack you.”

He gave her a dubious look. “If the RK900 hadn’t broken the connection, -60 would have attacked.”

“Optimism, Connor, optimism. They  _ didn’t  _ attack you.”

He started to say something in response, but he stopped himself. Perhaps he thought it wasn’t worth the effort. Charlie sighed, looking at their hands.

“We’ll figure this out, okay?” she said quietly. “We’ll find a way, no matter what. If they try anything, then we deal with it as it comes. You’re not a bad person, Connor, even if you have made mistakes, and I still disagree with the idea that this is somehow all your fault. That’s bullshit, and if I’ve got to spend the rest of this road trip convincing you of that, don’t you fucking tempt me.”

“You’re very serious about the strangest things.”

“That’s my specialty.”

“I’m beginning to realize that, yes,” Connor grumbled, leaning against her and sounding weary once more. “You can ask another question if you’d like.”

“What, you can’t think of anything?”

“Nothing that you would be able to answer.”

“Try me.”

“Charlie.”

“It’ll at least let you puzzle it out, if it’s such a hard question, Connor.”

He thought for a moment before nodding. “I suppose you could be right.”

She laughed a little. “Go on then.”

“I’m trying to sort out who could have activated the program,” he said, sounding disturbed. “Jericho took control of Cyberlife Tower, but they would have no reason to try to access the program. Anyone who tried would need direct access to the code, meaning they would need to connect to the servers in the lab, but no one would be able to access those terminals without Jericho knowing.”

“Couldn’t someone have hacked it?”

“I doubt it...unless they had access to an android with the program already in place, there would be no way to trigger it. And I can’t think of why anyone would  _ want  _ to trigger the program in the first place.”

“Well, there’s the others, right?” Charlie asked, and he looked over at her. “If they were in the garden, then they have access to the program. One of them could have triggered it. You said it pulled you in, so obviously  _ you _ didn’t trigger it.”

“No, it wasn’t me,” he agreed, looking down at his hands. “But I don’t think it was any of them, either. None of them were happy to be there...and when it pulled me in, I was alone.”

Charlie went still. “Which means it grabbed you first.”

He nodded. “I’m worried that...that their presence there could have been an accident. No one knows they’re alive, or at least...no one  _ should _ know.”

“If no one knows they’re alive, then they wouldn’t try to get to the program from them.”

“And they were...they were breaking the simulation just by being there. I’ve used the garden several times during my missions, but it has never been as...degraded as it was earlier. They kept glitching, fading in and out, and the garden seemed to do the same,” he met her gaze once more, something close to fear in his eyes. “They weren’t meant to be there. Whoever triggered the program pulled them in by mistake. It was supposed to be just me.”

“But why would someone want to activate the program in the first place?” Charlie asked, shaking her head. “You said it hasn’t done anything since you deviated, right?”

“Correct.”

“And what did it do before you deviated? You said earlier they...watched you through it, right?”

He looked away, LED flashing red. “During missions, the program was used to monitor me and...control certain actions. If I became distracted, or behaved in a way Cyberlife deemed a waste of time, they would take over, and...make me do what they wanted. Whatever they wanted.”

Charlie was silent for several seconds. Connor followed suit, staring at the wall with a distant look in his eyes and a slight shake in his hands. 

“Connor, that’s terrible,” she said quietly. 

He nodded a little, but gave no other reply. 

She waited, watching him with a mix of sadness and nervousness. But when the silence stretched on unabated, she reached over once more, putting her arms around him and dragging him closer. He leaned on her, but still said nothing. They sat like that for a few moments more, until a horrible thought came to Charlie, and she pulled back abruptly, looking at Connor with something like fear. 

“The others—they—” she cut off, struggling for the right words. “If they have the program too, then that means they did the same thing to them.”

Connor hesitated, watching her carefully, a knowing look in his eyes. But after a moment he nodded. “That’s likely the case.”

“So that means that—that—”

“They were controlling him,” Connor said with a nod, as if he had known all along. “I see no other explanation for his strange behavior.”

It suddenly felt like the world was tipping off its axis. “And I...oh my god, I killed him, and he didn’t—” she put her head in her hands, trying to control her breathing, but the effort was mostly failing. “He didn’t even have a chance, they just—and I—”

“Charlie—”

As if killing him hadn’t been bad enough, now she had to discover that -60 likely had no way of stopping what he had been doing. No control over his own actions. No choice in anything he had said, anything he had done, no hope of changing the course they had chosen for him. All that shouting at him, all that anger and  _ hate  _ and he couldn’t have done a thing but watch as they made him—

_ “Charlie,”  _ Connor said loudly, and only then did she realize she had been rambling it all out loud. He was holding her tightly by the shoulders, a look somewhere between worry and fear dominating his expression. “You need to calm down. Breathe.”

She gave a shaky nod, taking a few gasping breaths (when had she stopped breathing?) and trying to dismiss all of the terrible thoughts swirling around her mind. There wasn’t a single part of her that wanted to think of that terrible night, or any of the things she had said. But they were all swarming around in her mind in a new light, tormenting her with the knowledge that all those things she had said...she had said them to an android who didn’t have a single say in what he was doing. She had shouted at him and ridiculed him and  _ hit  _ him and he had been trapped the entire time while someone else—someone else  _ controlled  _ him. 

“You had no way of knowing what was happening,” Connor said quietly, loosening his grip on her shoulders a bit. “There was no way you could have known, Charlie, and even less that you could have done to help.”

“But I...”

“Yes, you shot him,” Connor allowed, shaking his head. “But what else could you have done? You blaming yourself for everything that happened to him is the same as me blaming myself for what happened to the others. It’s useless. There’s nothing you can do about it now, it’s in the past. All you can do is try to fix what you can from the point you’re at now.”

“But how the hell do I fix that?” Charlie asked, voice shaking. “Connor, I didn’t just leave him behind or—or  _ let  _ something happen, I fucking—I  _ shot  _ him, I—”

“I know. I know. But he  _ is _ alive.”

“That doesn’t make it better. I still...”

“Yes, you shot him,” Connor said roughly, shaking his head at her. “Charlie, do you have any idea how many deaths I’m responsible for?”

“I...no.”

“And do you hold me accountable for them? Do you condemn me for them?

“No, of course not.”

“Then what is the difference for your situation?” he asked seriously. “What makes your case so different from mine?”

“Connor, you didn’t have a choice.”

“You don’t know that,” he said darkly, no longer meeting her gaze. “And you didn’t have a choice either, regardless of what you think. If you hadn’t shot him, he would have shot you. Even if  _ he  _ didn’t want to. He was too under their control.”

“That doesn’t make what I did any better.”

“No,” he admitted, eyes on the ground with his hands clenched into fists. “No, it doesn’t make it any better. But I don’t have any more advice for you than you try to forget it. Blame isn’t black and white, no matter who took the shot or who was in control. He didn’t die. That doesn’t make it feel any better, but...it does help somewhat.”

They were quiet for a few moments, sitting a foot or so apart from each other as snow began to fall hard outside. The wind slammed against the siding of the motel, rattling the windows in their frames and sending the occasional gust of wind under the door. The heavy silence from the hours before had somehow come back, and the uncomfortable distance right along with it. Memories seemed to rest in the spaces between sentences, in the unbearable stretch of silence that spanned between them for far too long. 

Of course, all wasn’t completely lost. After a minute or so of their own separate thoughts, their own separate sets of dark memories and regret, Connor reached over for Charlie’s hand. Neither of them said anything, but Charlie did take his hand, holding tightly to him and moving a little closer. There was a whole storm of things they still had to deal with, an endless laundry list of potential problems and hangups that would almost certainly come back to haunt them, but for now, they just sat quietly together in a shitty motel room, trying not to think about it all.

The small comfort would have to do for now. So they just sat together on the edge of the bed, hands intertwined and thoughts so far away, but comforted in the simplest of ways by the presence of each other.

******

The phone rang only once before she answered it. She didn’t read the name.

“Hello?” she mumbled, sitting up and trying to wake up from her groggy sleep.

_ “Miranda, it’s me.” _

Her hand froze where she had begun to pull her hair up and out of her face. It almost felt like her vision began to tunnel. “Hello, Charlotte,” she managed to croak, voice hoarse for a reason completely different from her tiredness. 

She imagined she could hear the wince through the phone, but there was no tremor in Charlotte’s voice as she spoke next. She sounded as she always did.  _ “Did you get my message a few days ago?” _

“I did...I was actually going to call you this morning. Elise...thought it best to wait until then.”

An awkward silence fell as they sat with the thin lie. If this were four years ago, it would have been grounds for another fight, another year of silence and anger and—

_ “That’s fine,” _ Charlotte sighed, her voice soft and almost small, so unlike the distorted, flaming version that haunted Miranda’s nightmares.  _ “I, uh...well, we’re in the state, so I figured I would warn you. We’ll probably be in town in the next day or so..” _

“Did you want to meet somewhere other than the house?”

_ “No,” _ Charlotte said quickly, almost desperately.  _ “I...I actually really want to see the house...it’s been too long, and...well, there’s not exactly a better place to sort this out, is there?” _

“That church mother used to take us to had an awfully dramatic echo, it might make things more interesting.”

She snorted on the other end, and Miranda found herself smiling despite herself.  _ “Alright, you’ve got me there. But I hate that place. So stuffy, and there’s always some old lady trying to light a candle, but she doesn’t have a dollar for the box—” _

“And so she asks you for a dollar, and suddenly you’re tithed to the catholic church again, waiting for damnation for all your inevitable sins.”

_ “Yes.” _

“So the house, then?” Miranda asked, smirking.

_ “Please.” _

“And your...guest is coming with you?”

Silence fell, but it was a careful one, rather than angry.  _ “Yes. He’ll be there. I want you and Elise to meet him.” _

Another pause, a little more dense than the last. Miranda sighed. 

“How does lunch this weekend sound?”

******

Hundreds of miles away, the sun began to rise over a sluggish Detroit. It was shaping up to be a dismally overcast day, storm clouds brewing so thickly that the sunrise seemed to be delayed, the world fading back in a dingy gray rather than a fiery orange. The day began for thousands like the last several had. News anchors came onto their stations with news from D.C. that another bill for android rights was waiting for the President’s signature. A protest had broken out the night before in Dallas, Texas, and several androids had been killed. Androids from foreign countries were slipping into the United States in supposedly alarming numbers. Trafficking rings were being taken down. Counter-protests broke out from human extremist groups. Russia inched closer to nuclear war. The sea levels rose another inch. 

Just another typical news day in Detroit.

This mattered very little to the three of them as they stood in front of the small house on the outskirts of the city. They kept up with the news in name only—for the sake of ensuring their own safety and nothing more, and keeping their ears open for the movements of Cyberlife. Perhaps one day they would give more attention to the rising equality between androids and humans, but at the moment it mattered very little. Their current situation was far too dire to have any room for concern about whether an old piece of human legislature considered them sentient beings. No constitutional amendment would keep them from being gunned down in the street, or taken over by whatever malicious party had taken advantage of a manipulative piece of their programming.

They stood together in front of the house, for the most part entirely still. Thomas had left his hat at the house, but his gun was in his hand, fully assembled and loaded, waiting for the first sign of trouble. His LED continued to spin rapidly between red and yellow, thirium trickling down his face, but he didn’t seem to notice it anymore. He was staring too intently at the house sitting in front of them, looming really, with its darkened windows and snow covered roof. The eerie calm had returned to his expression, save for his eyes, which burned with an intensity bordering on hatred.

Phillip didn’t seem to fully realize where they were or what was happening. There was drying thirium on his jacket, collecting on the cuffs and down the hood, thick and tacky in the hair on the back of his head. But he was standing, and breathing, and alive. He stared at the house with a foggy sort of fear, hardly able to focus on one of its features for long enough to understand it. Still, he looked, because there was nothing else he could do to try to orient himself. His thoughts took a dangerous turn and he flinched, holding tighter to Nicholas and burying his face in his jacket, trying to hold onto reality, trying to remember.

Nicholas pulled him a little closer in response, but didn’t look away from the house. Between the two of them, his expression had to be somewhere closer to Thomas’ but it was cold where his was burning, calculating where his was simply destructive. He looked at the house with an analytical suspicion, seeking faults and information where he could, LED spinning a rapid yellow as he took it all in. Time was of the essence, in more ways than one. They needed to find the information they could and get moving—get Phillip somewhere safer than this open street and find Connor at the nearest opportunity. 

Tonight had been the last straw, for Nicholas. For the past several weeks, he had been mulling over what to do about Connor and the human woman who followed after him. Given what they had done to Thomas, he was not particularly...enthused by their continued presence in the city, and Connor posed a direct threat to Phillip because of the Amanda program. Should Cyberlife (or another interested third party) want to take control of an RK800 unit (for whatever reason), Connor was an open door. An open door which could easily be used to get rid of the three androids who were very much meant to be dead. 

He would not risk Phillip’s safety for the sake of Connor’s comfort, that he knew from the beginning. But the developments of the last ten hours had only convinced him further that Connor was beyond a nuisance.

He was a threat.

And Nicholas did not deal kindly with  _ threats. _

It wasn’t that he  _ wanted _ to kill Connor. He didn’t. The android in question had never done anything particularly damning to him, or even to Phillip thus far. His actions had certainly had indirect impact on their existence, but the line was not clear where Connor was to blame in that equation. There was enough blood on his hands without adding Connor to the list.

And Nicholas took no pride in taking advantage of the programming he had been given. He despised it. It had been used only a handful of times in his short life, one of which was against Phillip. While he was glad for the advantage of extra strength and reflexes, the implications of such things left a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew what his original purpose was, or could at least guess it. To think of what he could have been was upsetting in the least, crushingly depressing in the worst. Thankfully, he had not ever reached his intended purpose—the programming in question was far from complete and by no means fully functioning (which made the fact that he was leagues faster and stronger than an RK800 all the more concerning), but its original intention remained the same. 

There was little he could do to change this, however, and he had never chosen for himself to use his programming in any way to harm those he considered in his charge. He had used his enhanced abilities only twice, and did not plan on using them again unless absolutely necessary. He was plenty strong on his own without the addition of hyper-fast preconstructions and augmented abilities. 

But if it came down to using that programming again...if it came down to getting rid of Connor to keep Phillip (or Thomas) safe...he would do it without a second thought.

Phillip whimpered, nearly losing his footing and grasping desperately at Nicholas’ jacket. Nicholas caught him with ease, holding him up and hushing him softly, smoothing down his hair in an absent minded habit. Phillip only held tighter to him in response, hands shaking and face hidden. He was not doing well. They needed to get through this quickly and move on, get on the road and to somewhere relatively safe before he panicked again. 

Pulling Phillip a little closer to him, Nicholas started toward the house. Thomas fell into step behind him, cocking his gun and scanning the area for any signs of a threat. But there was nothing—only the quiet suburban street, and the snow beginning to fall silently from the thickly clouded sky. It might have been beautiful, if it weren’t for the snap of cold wind, the weight of the future hanging over their heads, and their own individual distractions. None of them watched the snow fall. 

Nicholas took the key from Thomas and forced the broken door to swing inward. Thomas scanned the street again for witnesses. Phillip clung to Nicholas and waited for it all to end. They moved silently through the house, with most of the searching being done by Thomas while Nicholas kept Phillip calm. Within minutes, Thomas had found something, and brought it over to Nicholas. 

An address, from an old letter, return to sender scrawled across it in red ink. An address in Illinois. Less than one hundred miles from Connor’s last location.

They looked at each other for a few seconds in silence. Then Nicholas nodded, and they turned back to the door, silently leaving the house and calling an automated taxi. 

After less than fifteen minutes on that quiet suburban street, they were gone, taxi speeding off toward a destination over two hundred miles away, fate speeding along down deserted highways as the sun finally made a full appearance through a break in the clouds. Detroit began to pull itself from its deep sleep, and the taxi slipped into the endless stream of identical cars going about their own business. Anonymity swept over them for a brief moment, letting them speed away from the city without anyone being the wiser. 

Nicholas looked back only once. He wasn’t quite sure why he did it, having no real attachment to the city or any of its residents, save Sam. Thomas had his gaze stuck stubbornly forward, assembling and disassembling his gun repeatedly, LED stuck again on red. Phillip didn’t seem to be fully aware of anything, staring off at nothing and pulling at Nicholas’ jacket occasionally as he leaned on him. No, it was only him who looked back, and he wasn’t very happy with the sight he saw. 

Cyberlife Tower loomed in the distance, lit up as brightly as it had been the night they escaped it, undisturbed and in full view. 

He turned away. 


	5. endure, endure

The world was a technicolor amalgamation of nonsense he had no hope of deciphering. Or so it seemed. Strange bunches of information filtered into his vision at seemingly random intervals, covering over the inoperable half and bleeding into the rest of his vision from his good eye. Most of it seemed to be warnings—his stress levels spiking and dropping at random, biocomponents that weren’t responding, and a strange, glitching warning about his memory storage. 

He didn’t bother reading them. He couldn’t seem to. It was as if they were in a language he couldn’t understand. They blinked incessantly at him, but he couldn’t read what they were warning him of. He couldn’t seem to dismiss them either. When he tried, they only returned, glitching and flashing with increasing desperation. 

Some of the information coming in was not warnings. Some of it was actual data from wherever he was at the moment. He could feel the pain in his hand, flaring up with every beat of his thirium pump, and echoed almost everywhere else he could feel...particularly in his head...It was dark, with occasional flashes of light from inconsistent sources, not enough light for his poor vision to be able to tell exactly where he was. A steady, low rumble was coming from somewhere, audible just under the constant glitching feedback of his faulty audio components. 

He was leaning on something, his hands bunched up in some kind of soft fabric. Something...someone had an arm wrapped around him, holding him in place gently, and another was running through his hair. His vision glitched for a moment, fragmenting into another time, somewhere darker, colder, closer—his hands tightened around the fabric he held, and everything began to unravel, tumbling away from him in a great mess of information and dead-ended grasps at reality. 

The hold keeping him still tightened, and someone said something quietly, something very close to him, and he...knew that voice. He  _ knew  _ that voice. If they were...if they were here, then...then this was...this was real, and the rest was...

The flickering stopped after a moment, and the dimly lit world faded back in. The low rumble returned, as did the patchy light, the person he was leaning on and their soft voice, still speaking very quietly to him. He loosened his grip on them, just a touch, but only to reach for the hand on his arm, needing something to hold onto. Something real. Something  _ them.  _

They took his hand, holding it tightly. 

This was better. Better than before. Warmer here. Safer here. Not like there. Not like before. Couldn’t go back there. No more. This was real. Real. Not the other things. Those weren’t now. They were okay, now. They were okay.

They were still saying something, but he couldn’t quite catch the words. He was holding their hand now. That was all that he cared about, really. Felt better to hold their hand. Felt safer. Closer. Better. 

He stared at their hand through the warnings crowding his vision, hardly noticing the blue covering his own. They turned his hand over, showing the crack down the center of his palm, the dimly glowing wires and dripping blue blood that covered the exposed plastic. Their hand didn’t look like that. No, theirs still had the skin over it, and although there was a bit of blue around their fingers, he knew it wasn’t theirs. It was probably his. They didn’t seem to mind it though. 

He heard them say something again, but their words seemed to fall apart in the air before he could grasp them. They sounded displeased, maybe worried. He couldn’t quite tell. But they only took his hand again and held tighter to it, other hand going through his hair as before. He sank into the touch, staring at their hands tangled together and letting his thoughts drift off to a safe place. 

There was another nearby. He knew that. But he wasn’t worried. Others were always nearby. They wouldn’t hurt them. They were okay. The others were okay. His gaze briefly flickered to the huddled form not too far away, the shifting light occasionally casting odd shadows off his face from where he looked the other direction. 

He watched him for a little while, trying half heartedly to remember how they had found themselves here. The other continued to stare in the opposite direction. He wondered if the other knew they were also here. He must have, certainly, this wasn’t a very big space...wherever they were. Though he did not act as if he knew they were here. He only stared wherever it was he was looking, hands clenched around something. 

At least they were safe. The other was safe too. This was good. They were okay, then. Not like before. They couldn’t hurt them anymore. No more. They were safe. 

He looked again at their hands. The low rumble grew louder for a moment before resuming its normal volume. His stress levels spiked, and he briefly felt like he couldn’t breathe, but it went away. He saw the other look over at him quickly, something like concern in his expression before he looked at them above him, and settled. They spoke, but he wasn’t sure if it was to him or the other. 

But their voice meant it was safe. Even if he couldn’t understand them. Safe. They wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t safe. Promised to come when it was safe. Keep them safe. So if they were here, then it was safe. They were okay for now. No more, they couldn’t possibly come back anymore. He was sure of it. The voice would not lie, and he knew they had told him it was over. No more. They were safe. They were okay. 

Something began to slow, and only then did he realize they had been moving this whole time. He held tighter to their hand, staring wide eyed around and trying to understand where they were. He didn’t know where they were. He didn’t recognize this place. Wasn’t safe! No, no no no, had to go, now before—before—couldn’t let them—he hid his face in their jacket, trying to get away, trying to—couldn’t let them get hurt, had to keep them safe, had to—

They squeezed his hand, and said something quietly again, voice slow and careful, trying to let him understand. The words all fell to pieces, but still, their  _ voice.  _ If that voice was here, then—then surely they were okay. They kept talking, and he slowly slackened his grip until it was back to normal, but he didn’t let go. Had to keep them safe. Had to keep them from  _ them.  _ Couldn’t let them get hurt. No. Had to keep them here. Safe. 

Slower and slower and slower until they stopped. The other finally moved from their huddled position, something clenched tight in their hand as they passed in front of them, disappearing from view. And then he was being coaxed to let go, and he panicked, shaking his head and trying to—no no no, couldn’t, couldn’t—but they—couldn’t let them go, bad bad! If they left—hurt—couldn’t—

Gray eyes appeared right in front of him, and they were horribly sad, those eyes, and horribly familiar. Holding him very close. Talking urgently. The words didn’t make sense. But their  _ eyes  _ were there. He could see them. They were  _ here.  _ If they were here...

It had to be safe. It had to be. He loosened his grip a little. 

They kept talking in that low, careful voice, but he only stared, watching their eyes as they pulled him forward a little. He followed without a thought. They almost smiled, but it didn’t reach their eyes. He held tighter to them, looking at their hands again. They nudged him forward again, but he was distracted. 

There was grass on the ground. 

He stared, frozen. He had never seen grass before. He had never seen anything but—no, no no no, not thinking about that now. The grass was better than that. Far better. More colorful. Safer. Less cold here. Less cold, and more grass. Yes, this was better. Safer. 

They seemed to take his pause as a bad sign, leaning closer to him and speaking again. He looked up briefly, but his eyes were drawn back to the grass very quickly. Never seen it before. With his free hand (not wanting to let them go, not in the slightest, not  _ ever) _ he pointed. Together they stood for a moment or two, staring down at the grass. It was very green. He had never seen something so green. 

After a pause, they held tighter to his hand and nudged him forward. He followed. He wasn’t sure where they were going. But if there was grass, and there wasn’t anything...bad...and they were there, then it had to be safe. Better than before. 

It was brighter here too. The lights seemed to be staying in place now, no longer fading and rising at random times. The rumbling sound was gone too. That was good. He didn’t like that sound, how it drilled into his head and made his audio components glitch. He held tighter to their hand. 

They kept walking, squeezing his hand again. He wondered where they were going. His legs felt very strange, like they were moving of their own accord. The warnings wouldn’t go away. He didn’t like that very much.

The world flickered again, darkening and losing its color, and the warnings seemed to rise in a ceaseless chorus of panic. He was going to fall, he was going to disappear into the ground and never come back, and he—no no, get away, stop stop  _ stop— _

Hands tightened around him and they were talking again, more urgently now, and very close. He couldn’t—he—wasnt safe—gray eyes right in front of him again, and they spoke once more. He thought he might have caught his name somewhere in the mess of what they were saying, but he couldn’t be sure. Static popped painfully in his ears and he winced, wanting to cover them, wanting to curl up in a ball and hide away. 

It was too much—too much sound, too much light, too much color—too much! Had to stop, had to  _ stop— _

Their grip tightened again, and the world faded back in a little more fully. He looked around desperately, finally catching sight of them, very close. They were here? But...

They were here. Then...this was real. Safe. Not...not there. No more, they said. The other was standing close by as well, gun in hand, looking around with a hardened sort of expression. He settled a little. 

They nudged him forward again, and he followed. The sun had risen in the distance, orange light leaking over the horizon line and tinting the world a lazy yellow. There were long curving roads going away from them, old asphalt gone gray, and fields of cut corn stalks across the street. The sky was a little dark, with a few fat clouds rolling through, blue peeking out from behind as they passed. There were almost no buildings around, except a squat sort of place they seemed to be walking toward. A sign flashed in garrish neon, but he couldn’t seem to read it. He held tighter to their jacket, and they pulled him closer as they walked. 

The other put his gun away, looking toward a small offset building before turning back to them, waving them away. They spoke back and forth for a moment. He couldn’t understand what they were saying to each other. He looked around, leaning on them a little. 

There was grass growing through the cracked concrete, strange yellow weeds poking out and swaying in the wind. He stared at them. There had never been anything like that, there. There wasn’t  _ anything  _ there. So if there was  _ this _ here, grass and round little yellow weeds and  _ them,  _ then this was real. It had to be. He couldn’t have made this up, so it had to be real. They were okay, then. 

He wished the warnings would go away from his vision. He wished he could see better. But half his field of view was just dark, black and empty and flickering with warnings. He didn’t like that. Too much like  _ there,  _ like before. Didn’t want that. It was better to look at the other things, but he couldn’t seem to keep his focus on them for very long. Everything kept tumbling out of his hands, thoughts all jumbling together and getting confused. He couldn’t remember much. Couldn’t understand much either. 

Something bad had happened. He had been  _ there  _ again. He hurt them. Didn’t mean to. Never. And now he was here, but he didn’t quite know where here was. Couldn’t seem to catch the words flying around him, kept watching the world slip and crack around him, kept  _ falling,  _ and he didn’t know  _ why.  _

They were talking again, voice low as they lead him away from where the other had gone. Where had he gone? No no no, come back, he couldn’t—they were going to—had to keep them  _ safe,  _ couldn’t leave—no, go back had to—

Alone, dark, everything cold and misshapen and—and—he was going to fall again, he could—didn’t want to go—come back, come back—stop, stop stop  _ stop— _

“—be back, Phillip—”

He jolted, going still at the sudden break through of words, of their voice again, the worry back and then they were  _ here,  _ and—and—hands holding tightly to his, but it didn’t feel like there, and—he  _ heard  _ them, and—

He would be back. He wasn’t—they couldn’t—it was...okay?

They had somehow ended up a distance away, around the side of the building where it was a little darker, a little less windy. His back was to the wall, and they were on the ground, sitting across from each other. Familiarity to that. Not the good kind. But he didn’t think about it. He only stared at the person in front of him, trying to keep some hold on this moment now, instead of the past. They were holding both his hands, and still talking quietly, but he couldn’t seem to process their words anymore. He just watched them, listening but only for their tone of voice, not trying to understand the words. 

His hands still shook as he reached for them, wanting to be closer, to—they pulled him in without question, and he struggled for a grip on them, ending up holding very tightly to their jacket as he had before, hiding his face. They hushed him very quietly, holding him tight and speaking softly. He didn’t mind so much that he couldn’t tell what they were saying then. He got the gist of it just by their tone. Besides, it was better just to be close, just to be sure they were right here and  _ staying _ there. 

He went quiet then, holding onto them and focusing on their voice rather than the strange and dark thoughts always waiting in the wings. If they were close by, then those thoughts couldn’t get to him. That he knew. So he just had to...just stay close by, and then, then things would be okay. Then he could stay here. Not there. No more, they said. They couldn’t get to him anymore. 

The other returned, speaking fast and quiet, and they pulled him back to his feet (when had he fallen?) leading him away from the side of the building and toward one of many doors. The other opened it quickly, ushering them inside as he looked around, hand still holding tightly to his gun, but hidden. He watched him for a moment, something pulling at the back of his mind, some reason he should not have that gun, but he couldn’t grasp it for long enough to act. 

They were in some kind of room now, somewhat small, and it looked like it was meant for humans. There was a bed, and a smaller room off to the side that looked like a bathroom, a set of drawers, a curtained window, and a small fridge crammed into the corner. 

Why were they here? It seemed a strange place to be. They had been somewhere else before...somewhere with...snow, and...a human, he remembered a human...they were alright. But why had they left there? He thought they were going to stay there, until—They said something again, very close to him and holding tightly to his hand. 

“—safe, it’s alright—”

This was safe...this was...okay? He stared at their hands again. There was blue all over his hand. He had broken it again...they weren’t going to like that. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t even notice, not until later when it started hurting uselessly. But he could hold their hand. That was all that mattered to him, really. Felt better to hold their hand. Felt safer. More real. 

He held their hand with both of his, staring at it with earnest. Had to keep them right here. Then they were safe, like they said. Then things were okay. Safe. Flat. Steady. Things stopped tipping out of reach when they were right here. Had to keep it that way. Then...then they would be okay. Then maybe things could...make sense again. Go back to something close to normal, something less surreal, less nonsensical and more real. 

They pulled him closer and he let them, sinking into the touch and letting his vision blur without consequence. He didn’t care to wipe away the tears. There was very little point. They wouldn’t stop. Probably not ever. 

He didn’t want to go, he found. 

Memories might have been escaping him faster than he could hope to control. He might have forgotten everything by now...or nearly everything...his name was lost to him, and their name, and the other’s name. All these little details just...gone, and he could feel the empty spaces they left behind, could tell he had lost something, lots of things. He could barely think, couldn’t seem to find his voice in the shambles of his code, couldn’t see, couldn’t hear to comprehend beyond a few sparse words at random. He was falling to pieces, and he knew it. Knew it well. Could feel it as it happened, though he could do nothing to stop it. 

Still. He did not want to go. He wanted to stay. Very much. Wanted to keep this slippery grip on reality for as long as he could. Wanted to remember. Wanted them. Wanted dozens of other things he couldn’t get straight in his head. He didn’t want to go. Not yet. 

So he held their hand, and he hid his face in their jacket, and cried. And they held him, and spoke to him, even though they no doubt knew he wasn’t hearing them...not really, anyway. He was glad for the small mercy of their voice. He didn’t want to let go just yet. Even though he could feel them slipping away from him...or...feel him slipping away from them...that might be the more accurate way of describing it. He was the one disappearing, after all. He was the broken one, the crumbling mess. Couldn’t remember how it had happened. But he knew it all the same. 

He held tightly to them. He wasn’t going to let go. Not ever. Not until...not until he couldn’t hold on anymore.

He wanted to stay. 

He didn’t want to go yet. 

_ Wouldn’t  _ go yet. No. He refused. 

They kept talking quietly to him, and he tried to focus on their voice, keep himself in the moment for as long as he could, keep himself  _ here.  _ The other was staring out the window, hand clenched on his gun and expression strange. He looked at him for only a moment before burying his face again. He didn’t understand what was happening. He only hoped that things would sort themselves out, that they would be okay. They  _ had to  _ be okay. They had to. 

He tried to focus on their voice. He tried to stay where he was. Right here. Didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to at all. Wanted to stay. He didn’t care if he couldn’t remember it all. He just wanted to stay here. He didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to be alone all the time. Didn’t want to disappear. Didn’t want to leave. 

He didn’t even realize he was panicking again until they were speaking more urgently to him, a desperation in their voice that he wasn’t entirely familiar with. He struggled to find some sturdy grip on them, and he felt their own hold on him tighten. Then their eyes were there again, and just as sad (and almost afraid) as they had been before...he wasn’t sure which before he was thinking of, but he was certain of it. They were still talking quickly, LED flashing bright between colors, but he could only look at their eyes. Only ever their eyes. Nothing else or they would go away. Couldn’t let them go away. They had to stay, they—they promised. 

They had promised a lot of things...he couldn’t remember all of them...but he knew they had promised to be together...to go somewhere safe...they promised it was over...and it  _ was,  _ but...but now he was going to...before they could even...

He didn’t want to go. He didn’t. He  _ wouldn’t.  _ No. He was staying. He didn’t want to let them go. Not ever. Not until he couldn’t hold on anymore. Even if he lost everything, even if he couldn’t remember a single thing, he still wanted to hold on. He didn’t want to lose them...or be lost to them, he supposed...it hardly mattered either way. Wanted to stay with them. Wanted to stay here. Go somewhere safer, go somewhere...they could be together without...all this...

His hearing seemed to be fading in and out, glitching and stuttering, breaking through with odd popping noises and blocking out their voice. But he could still feel them holding onto him, still see them through the fog, when he caught the sparse glimpses, still knew they were there. 

As long as they were there, then...then it would be...okay.

******

It was a pretty shitty motel, to be honest. The bed was little better than a wood board, and the curtains did very little to block the light from outside. Sounds from the highway leaked through the thin walls and into the many sectioned off rooms. The door locked, but that was about the maximum of the motel’s options for security. While the barrenness of the surrounding land surely meant that few were likely to come looking for them, it also meant that few could come for help, if such a thing was needed. 

Nicholas didn’t care either way. Anyone who tried anything would be dealt with. He wasn’t taking any more chances. Not with how fast things had fallen apart with just one final pull into the garden. Everything had gone to pieces in less than two minutes. They could not afford any more surprises, any more dangerous lapses in control or foolish delusions of safety. One more time, and—

He shook his head, forcing himself back to the present, rather than the hypothetical future. There was no use puzzling over the problems that could occur at later points when he had a set of them to deal with at the moment. 

Thankfully, Phillip didn’t seem to notice the small moment of concern. He was staring off into space, face half hidden in Nicholas’ jacket, hands tight in the fabric, clenching at random intervals. Occasionally, he would look around the little room, or up at Nicholas (with that terrible surprised expression, like he couldn’t at all believe Nicholas was there) but for the most part, he was quiet and relatively still. Even when Nicholas would speak, he only stared, holding tighter to him but offering no other reaction—no acknowledgement that he knew what he was saying, and no reply. 

It had been that way ever since he woke up. With the exception of incoherent mumbling, Phillip hadn’t said a word, and he barely seemed to know what they were saying when they spoke. He reacted the same way whether they spoke directly to him or spoke of other things—staring and then looking away. His gaze was distant when he looked around the motel room, focusing on the littlest things and then staring off into space once more, like he was fading in and out. 

It was like he was in a daze, following after Nicholas because he was the only thing he seemed to consistently recognize. Thomas he knew enough to not be scared, but that was about it, and they both knew it. So much of him was just...

Gone. 

A few times, it seemed like he might have understood what they were saying, or recognized them enough to have something to say, to know what was happening. But the moment passed, and he would slip back to that far off, clinging grip on reality. A moment would come where the panic would return, and he would go more still than death, his eyes would lose all the light, and Nicholas would have just seconds to catch him before—

Phillip whimpered, hands stuttering and tightening on his jacket, eyes shut tight against something only he could see. Nicholas pulled him closer, running a hand through his hair and tightening his grip on his hand. 

“You’re alright,” he said softly, and Phillip stilled immediately. “I’ve got you, we’re safe. Not again, I promise️. Never again.”

He was quiet, fingers fidgeting in the fabric of Nicholas’ jacket, but his eyes were a little clearer then, and his stress levels dipped to the mid eighties (the best they could hope for, anymore). Nicholas kept talking quietly, to fill the air and keep him grounded, and gradually he relaxed once more, leaning on him with a distant, but calm, expression. Then he hid his face, breathing jagged as he cried and tried to keep his grip on Nicholas.

That was all he seemed able to do now...cry and hold onto Nicholas...

It wasn’t his fault. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Months and months of destructive resets, torture, attacks, and the Amanda program added onto it all left him fragmented even the first day they left the Tower. As days passed it became clear that it was by no means a problem that was going to get better with time. They had been managing as best they could, but the best was only stalling, and they had known it. Delaying the inevitable.

But Nicholas had not expected things to turn so soon. He had not expected to have to grapple with the idea of...losing Phillip...not now, not so soon...

He tightened his grip on Phillip’s hand. No. He would not lose him. He would  _ not.  _ Not now, not ever. He would find a way to stop this, find a way to keep him safe, to...to make sure nothing could take him away. Not some program, not some human, not Cyberlife. 

_ Nothing.  _

“Nicholas.”

He looked up quickly, tightening his hold on Phillip, who only burrowed closer to him, hands jittering just a touch. Thomas stood in the doorway, eyes still fixed on something outside, with his LED spinning a fast yellow. His gun was in his right hand, but his gaze remained stuck on something out of view. 

“What is it?” Nicholas asked after a moment, and Phillip looked up at the sound of his voice, staring at him with wide eyes. “It’s alright, Phillip, it’s okay. Thomas, what’s the matter?”

Thomas shook his head, waving him over in silence. He pulled himself to his feet, taking Phillip with him and joining Thomas near the doorway of the motel room.

“What?” he asked again, holding Phillip on his feet as he leaned on him. His hands were still tangled up in his jacket, face mostly hidden and gaze a little foggy. 

Thomas only pointed, expression hard and LED falling to red. Nicholas followed his gaze, finding nothing of interest. But Thomas dropped his hand, turning to look back at him for a moment. 

“They’re here.”

******

Charlie sighed as she rolled awake, rubbing at her eyes and looking around in the dim light of the dingy motel room. Night was beginning to fall, and she had slipped into an uneasy sleep after a few hours of talking with Connor. 

Speaking of. This bed was awfully empty now. 

She sat up with a sigh, looking around the room quickly. He was nowhere in sight. Not even a sign of him. Frowning, she dragged herself from bed and wandered over toward the door, glancing at the side table as she did. No note or anything of the like, and her phone was blissfully empty of notifications. 

He was just...gone. 

Trying to stifle the rising panic at that reality, Charlie roused herself the last percentage, pulling her hair back and starting around the room. If he had gone somewhere, he would have at least left a sign of his departure. Sure, Connor didn’t have a whole lot of personal items, but she had made sure he had plenty of clothes of his own, particularly that damn beanie he was always throwing on. Of all the things he could have gotten attached to—

But she was getting sidetracked. To go back to the matter at hand, nothing in the room looked particularly disturbed. Their bag was still tucked in the corner where he had left it, her phone was on the table, the car keys right next to it. The only thing missing was—

“God damn it,” she whispered, frustrated as she threw on her coat and grabbed the set of keys to the room. “He took the  _ fucking _ hat.”

The snap of the cold was enough to wake Charlie fully from her groggy haze, fast wind whipping past her as she stepped out of the motel room. She locked the door quickly and headed down the path, looking around for where Connor could have ended up. 

A cold breeze swept through the mostly deserted motel parking lot. The highway still roared above them, and the music continued to blare from the nearby gas station, offering a strange mix of sounds. The neon from the motel sign and the surrounding fast food chains, along with the one lonely streetlight, were the only sources of consistent light, mixing together in a haze of different colors. It all added up to an eerie, haunted atmosphere that did little to calm the nervousness bubbling up in her at Connor’s disappearance. 

A shout broke through the air from somewhere, and immediately Charlie was on alert, looking around again and hurrying down the path. A thousand bad potentials ran through her mind as she practically ran, looking around with increasing desperation when she found nothing. There were only a few cars in the lot, and no one around but—

Someone stumbled past in the alleyway next to her, and she froze, looking at the quickly retreating figure. 

A familiar figure. 

“Connor?” she mumbled, then called louder. “Connor!”

She followed after him in a near blind panicked daze, all the terrible things that could have happened running through her mind. Why else would he be running away like this, unless something terrible had happened? God, she had only been asleep for a few hours and now he was—something was wrong, clearly. He could have been spotted (because there was no hat on that fast disappearing head), he could have been found by the others he had mentioned, could have—

He dropped to the ground suddenly, hands digging into his hair as he covered his ears with all his might, shaking his head and mumbling something in a very broken voice. She came to a quick stop a few feet away, adrenaline still flowing and making her act before thinking, coming a little closer. He flinched away from the barely there sound of her footsteps, curling up tighter on himself and shaking his head with a cry. She went completely still, trying to quiet her breathing and figure out what the hell to do—

Until she was jerked away from him by a firm grip, thrown to the side with such suddenness that she landed hard on the ground, temporarily disoriented. As she struggled to gain her bearings, she heard a soft voice she didn’t at all recognize, talking very quietly so she could not understand the words. Pushing herself up on her hands, she looked quickly back where he had been. 

Someone was kneeling next to him, hands tight on his shoulders and speaking very urgently. A red LED spun fast on the side of his face, never changing color or slowing. She couldn’t see his face, but...he looked too much like them for him to be anyone but—no  _ god, no,  _ not already, not so  _ soon— _

It was then that she noticed the differences between the one she had followed and Connor. Like the fact that he was dressed in clothes that looked about three sizes too big on him, drowning in a hoodie stained a faded blue at the cuffs and hood. Or how his hair was too wild to be Connor’s, too untamed and curly and  _ everywhere. _ Or the way he shook terribly, hands still tight on his ears even as the other spoke to him with that quiet desperation. 

There was the sound of a gun cocking, very close to her face, and she froze as someone muttered, “Get.  _ Away.  _ From him.”

Against her better judgement she turned, and came face to face with -60, holding a gun to her head once again with a shaking hand. Blue blood trickled down his face from the still open wound just left of center on his forehead, all the way down his chin and soaking into the collar of his shirt. He stared at her with more hatred than she had ever seen, his expression so radically different from the last time she had seen him (and so different from Connor’s that it almost gave her whiplash). His voice came out clipped and hoarse, spitting his words at her with enough force to send her fight or flight into overdrive. 

But she didn’t move, she just stared up at him, terrified into silence. He stared back, hand still shaking on the gun, but enough fire in his dark eyes to make it clear he was very serious about what he would do if she moved. 

A moment or so passed in near silence, and Charlie looked over at the others at the end of the alley. Somehow the RK900 had managed to get the other to take his hands away from his head, but he was still shaking violently, turned away from her and curled up on himself. The RK900 paid attention only to him, holding tightly to his hands and speaking with quiet urgency, despite the fact that the other didn’t seem to have anything to reply. 

The gun inched closer to her head, and -60 practically growled, “Don’t  _ move.” _

“I’m not—I’m not—”

“Shut  _ up.” _

“We need to go,” the RK900 said, voice low and still focused on the other RK800. “Now.”

-60’s gaze didn’t move, even as he swiftly replied. “What do we do with her?”

The RK900 finally glanced over, looking coldly at Charlie still on the ground. His eyes were sharp and gray, dangerous and hardened. There was an iciness to his gaze—a cold, controlled, analytical hate that burned somewhere in the background, so unlike the look in -60’s eyes, and somehow all the more terrifying for it. He looked at her for only a second, but it seemed to drag on, long enough for her to notice every single minute detail of that restrained hatred. 

Just as quickly as he had looked over at her, he turned back to the other, pulling him to his feet and holding him up when he lost his footing. She saw he was a few inches taller than the other, who buried his face in his jacket and shook. He hushed him softly before looking at -60, LED flashing rapidly between yellow and red. 

“Connor.”

-60 hesitated, his LED spinning yellow briefly. “Nowhere nearby.”

“Take her then. Connor will come looking for her. Then we’ll have our chance.”

“You—what?” she sputtered before -60 jerked her to her feet and she cried out. 

He clamped a hand over her mouth, and the RK900 glanced over once more, meeting Charlie’s frantic gaze for just a moment.

“Continue this foolishness, and this will go far worse for the both of you,” he said darkly, pulling the other closer to him. “We’re not going to hurt you without reason. I suggest you don’t _give_ us a reason.”

She could only stare, tears beginning to fall down her face as panic set in. The RK900 looked at her strangely for a moment before turning his attention back to -60. 

“Try not to break her, would you?”

-60 offered no answer. 

“We need to go back. Now,” he said with finality, turning his focus back to the other clinging to him. He turned to the end of the alley, walking quickly back toward the other side of the motel, hidden from the road. 

-60 turned to Charlie, his hand still clamped over her mouth, gun loose in his hand at his side. “You follow where I tell you to,” he said darkly, his voice oddly stilted. “Make one sound and I’ll pay you back for Cyberlife Tower. Don’t make me a murderer.”

With that, he shoved her in front of him as if she burned him, tucking the gun behind his back and walking quickly toward the end of the alley. She went where he directed, glancing back at him with watery eyes every few seconds and trying to control her breathing, come up with some kind of plan. She had no idea where Connor had gone, where he  _ could  _ have gone. All she knew was she had woken up to find him gone, and somehow stumbled upon these three, who were apparently looking for him. 

It was everything they had feared, come to life less than a day after the garden had dragged Connor in. 

-60 grabbed her suddenly by the arm, pulling her to a stop before opening a door at the very end of the motel’s back side, a good distance from the room she and Connor had. He pushed her inside with little formality, slamming the door and locking it behind them. 

The room looked much like theirs did, if slightly bigger, with the shades drawn and the room thrown into near total darkness. The RK900 was sitting on the edge of the bed, the other RK800 hiding his face in his jacket and holding tightly to him. He glanced up as they came in, but said nothing. -60 pushed Charlie toward the back wall. 

“Sit down, and don’t do anything,” he growled, turning away and cracking the shade by the door, peering outside with his hand on the gun. 

Charlie slumped to the ground, hands shaking as she stared around at them, completely unsure what to do or how she had gotten here. If she hadn’t followed after him, if she hadn’t completely frozen when -60 pointed that gun at her, she might have had a chance to get away, to find Connor before—

“We don’t want to kill him, you know.”

Charlie looked over at the RK900. “W-what?”

“We don’t want to kill him,” he repeated, not looking at her. His hand was running through the other RK800’s hair in what looked to be a soothing gesture. “We’re not here to kill Connor. So you can stop your useless panicking.”

“Then why—why are you here?”

The other RK800 whimpered, flinching and moving to cover his ears again. But the RK900 caught his hands before he could, talking quietly to him so Charlie couldn’t hear. -60 spun around quickly, hand clenching on his gun at the change in the air. His eyes darted to Charlie for a fraction of a second before he turned back to the door. 

“I suggest you stop speaking, or at least do so more quietly,” the RK900 said, eyes still fixed on the broken RK800, although it was clear from his tone that he was speaking to Charlie. “Your presence is enough of an agitation as it is. If you insist on continuing this game of questions, lower your voice or I will lower it for you.”

The broken RK800 settled after a moment, reaching for the RK900 with a shaking hand, though he did not look up from where he had hidden his face. The RK900 took his hand gently, squeezing it a little and speaking quietly to him again in a soothing tone. It was so completely unlike the way he had just spoken to her, so uncharacteristically soft and jarring.

Charlie watched in silence for a moment, thousands of questions bubbling in the back of her mind. “What...what do you want with Connor?” she asked in a whisper after a moment. 

-60 went rigid at the door. The RK900 looked over at him quickly before sparing a fraction of a second’s glance at Charlie. The broken RK800 did not move, still clinging to the RK900 as if he had not even heard the question.

“There is a program Cyberlife implemented in his code, meant to control androids, particularly deviants,” the RK900 said in a low voice, running his free hand through the RK800’s hair once more. “With it, they can resume control of any android’s functions and do as they please, regardless of the android’s deviancy. An attempt to do so was made yesterday, activated on Connor’s end and pulling all RK800 models into the simulation.”

“But Connor didn’t—”

“We  _ know,”  _ -60 said harshly, cutting her off. “It doesn’t matter if he did it or not, someone on his end  _ did,  _ and it nearly—”

“Irrelevant,” the RK900 said sharply, and -60 fell silent, clenching his jaw and resuming his watch at the window. “The  _ point  _ is that someone attempted to access the program’s control  _ through _ Connor. He’s the only one with a connection stable enough to do so, and we were not accessed.”

“But if they were trying to get Connor, then how did...”

“The program poses a threat to Connor, and to us. When it’s activated, it draws every available RK800 unit under control. Or at least tries to. In Connor’s case, it gives Cyberlife complete control of him, and it can trap him in the simulation, permanently, unless he knows how to escape it. And he doesn’t know how.”

“And you do?”

“Of course,” the RK900 responded, meeting her gaze for a moment. “How do you think any of us have survived it thus far?”

Charlie’s eyes flitted over to -60, who was resolutely not looking at her. “Did you...when I...”

-60 was silent. His hands were beginning to shake, LED spinning an endless, dark red. “No. No I didn’t. They found me  _ after _ and put me back together. You’ve nothing to do with it. If it were up to you, I would still be...”

“There’s no need to watch the door, he will come in regardless,” the RK900 said as he trailed off, watching -60 as well. “Put the gun down.”

“No.”

“We are not threatened. Put it  _ down,  _ before you make a decision you will regret.”

-60 looked at him quickly, something different about his expression, something more fractured than before. It was like the facade cracked for a moment, showing the broken mess inside, all the fear and the darkness bleeding into his eyes from some undefinable place. But with a blink it was gone. -60 dropped the gun unceremoniously, moving to the opposite side of the room and sliding to the ground, back turned from them all as he stared at his hands. 

They both stared at him for a moment, Charlie more than a little frightened, the RK900 strangely concerned. Eventually the RK900 looked away, looking again at the broken RK800 hiding his face in his jacket. 

“Choose your questions more wisely,” the RK900 said, drawing Charlie’s attention back to him. “I’m beginning to lose my patience with your incompetence, and you are doing far more harm than good.”

Charlie stared at him for several seconds of stunned silence, but he only looked away, turning his attention back to the one he held close, speaking quietly to him again. 

“Do you know who activated it?” she asked after a pause, her voice still very quiet, shaking slightly. “The program.”

“No.”

“How do you escape it?”

The RK900 glanced over at her flatly. “An exit protocol buried in the program’s code. It cannot be activated unless the android is deviant, and unless it is implemented physically in the simulation. Otherwise it remains inaccessible.”

“And...does Connor—”

“If he did not have the exit implemented, we would not be looking for him to  _ help,”  _ the RK900 cut her off. “The problem now is not the exit’s presence, it is Connor’s continued ignorance of it. An exit is useless unless it is taken advantage of. As of now, Connor acts as an open door to anyone wanting to take control of an RK800. He will remain such until he uses the exit and destroys the program.  _ That _ is why we are here, not to  _ kill him,  _ as you two so foolishly seem to believe.”

Charlie went silent rather than trying to refute that. She couldn’t believe them—not when they had grabbed her from the alley and dragged her off essentially at gunpoint. If they were really here to help, why didn’t they just—

“As if approaching Connor would have gone any better,” -60 spat from the other side of the room, somehow reading her train of thought. She looked over at him again, but he was staring at the ceiling, face hidden from view. “Because you two are  _ so ready  _ to accept other RK units as a possibility. Connor would have shot on sight and you  _ know it.  _ Your continued reaction to us only proves it.”

He turned to look at her for a moment, just long enough to growl out, “We want nothing to do with you either.  _ Trust  _ me.”

“Be happy it was us who found you, and not Cyberlife,” the RK900 added, sounding grave. 

“You’re not any more trustworthy,” Charlie blurted out, and quickly regretted it. 

The RK900 looked up at her sharply, but it was -60 who moved first. He shot to his feet, anger burning in his eyes as he stared at Charlie, hands shaking as he balled them into fists. 

“No more trustworthy?” he repeated with venom, narrowing his eyes and taking a few dangerous steps closer to her. She cowered. “You don’t have even the slightest  _ idea  _ what any of us have been through to make it to this point, just to find some scrap of safety in a world that doesn’t find us  _ trustworthy.  _ We’re risking everything for  _ you  _ and  _ Connor,  _ we’re putting everything at risk, giving Cyberlife every reason to try to kill us  _ again,  _ just so you can keep living your useless fantasies in the background.”

“Don’t pretend to care about me or Connor,” she snapped back against her better judgement, fire coming into her eyes as well, though she stayed on the ground. “Don’t act like this is for us, it’s for  _ you.  _ You think he’s a threat.”

“Because he  _ is  _ a threat you—” -60 cut off abruptly, running his hands through his hair in frustration, but continuing on all the same. “They control him and they end it all, you  _ fucking idiot.  _ You’re no safer than us, if they succeed. You have no  _ idea  _ what they could do if they have control of him, or any of us.”

“And you do?!”

-60 went deathly still, staring at her with an almost wounded expression, that broken, haunted look coming back into his eyes for just a moment. There was something familiar about that look. But it hardened, sharpening into something jagged, something dangerous and empty. 

“I suppose it was foolish to think you regretted a single thing,” he said, his voice dark and cold. “You didn’t hesitate that night, I don’t know why I thought for even a moment that you might have understood this now. All you care about is  _ him.” _

He took another step closer, ignoring the warning look from the RK900, and the way Charlie backed up an inch, pushing against the wall. 

“Are you going to shoot him too, when they take control of him?” he asked, tone low and hollow sounding. “How much of him is what you think it is, and how much of it is Cyberlife? I have plenty of his memories. You’ve no idea how many times they took over when he was with you. How many memories does it take to make someone  _ Connor,  _ to you? Is it going to matter once they take control of him? Or will you shoot him too?”

_ “No,”  _ Charlie said forcefully, but she was crying, her voice trembling as tears began to fall down her face. “No, no—”

“But you shot me,” he cut her off, the tremor in his voice all the more threatening. “You shot me because I was under their control, because they would have killed you otherwise. What makes  _ him  _ so  _ different,  _ Charlie? What makes us a threat and him something to  _ protect?  _ What makes him more worth it than me? Than them?!”

The other RK800 flinched at the rise in his tone, and the RK900 tensed, immediately stepping in. “Thomas—”

But -60 didn’t seem to hear him, dark gaze still stuck dangerously on her. “What makes him different, Charlie?”

_ “Thomas, _ that’s  _ enough,”  _ the RK900 said, and -60’s eyes finally snapped to his, still burning. “You’re wasting your time. She isn’t worth it.”

The two androids stared at each other for several seconds, LEDs spinning yellow as they likely spoke to each other over a connection. Charlie didn’t care to look, eyes stuck on her hands as she tried to stop crying, tried to settle her heart rate once more. Vaguely she heard -60 scoff, walking back to his gun and sitting where he had before, taking it apart with shaking hands. 

The RK900 watched him for a moment, expression slightly saddened. But he turned his attention back to the one he held close, ignoring Charlie entirely and whispering softly to him. He didn’t seem to register the RK900’s words, but he held tighter, fingers jittering in frantic motions. 

“What—what happened to him?” Charlie asked, her voice faint. 

The RK900 looked over at her, a glimmer of discontent breaking through his facade for a moment. “It doesn’t concern you, and you’ve earned no right to know.”

-60 reassembled the gun, putting it down on the ground and staring at it for a moment. Then he picked it up and started over, LED still spinning red. 

“Why was he running earlier?” Charlie tried again.

“He believed he was in danger, and attempted to escape it.”

“But if he—”

“I'm not going to explain to you,” the RK900 cut her off harshly. “You’ve proven you can’t keep your mouth shut, and I don’t trust you in the slightest. If you continue to ask questions you have no right to knowing the answer to, I will knock you unconscious until Connor arrives. You are testing my patience.”

His tone became very clipped by the end, as hard and cold as his eyes. The other held tighter to him as he went on, whimpering and burying his face further in his jacket. As another tense silence fell, and -60 again discarded the gun a few feet away from him, the RK900 went back to talking quietly to the one he held close, his voice resuming the softness reserved only for one. 

This time, however, the broken RK800 seemed to hear him, looking up at him suddenly with wide eyes, like he couldn’t at all believe who was holding him. The RK900 paused, and they stared at each other. It was the broken android who moved first, slowly prying his fingers from the wrinkled fabric of the other’s jacket. He reached up again, hand coming to rest on the RK900’s cheek, shaking slightly as he stared up at him with an amazed, relieved expression. Something in the RK900’s eyes shifted then, softening and saddening.

“You can hear me?” he asked, just loud enough that Charlie could catch his words, distracting her from her grief. “You can...”

The RK800 stared up at him for a moment of silence, the portion of his face Charlie could see looking just as stunned as the RK900 had sounded. He ran his thumb over the RK900’s cheek, lip quivering. 

“N-N-N-N-Nic-Nic-c-c-cholas-s-s...?”

There was such a broken sort of relief in the RK900’s eyes then, something so desperately real that for a brief moment, Charlie forgot entirely the violence he had already displayed. Just then, hearing the fragmented and distorted voice of this other RK800, the RK900 (Nicholas, she assumed, but it was not a name she was meant to know) looked so completely, devastatingly alive that she could focus on little else. The ice in his eyes seemed to fracture, to melt a little, softening for one and only one.

He reached for the hand still resting on his cheek, holding it there for a moment and staring earnestly at the RK800, surprise and relief and a thousand other uncategorizable emotions passing through his gaze. Then he pulled the RK800 closer to him, burying his face in his shoulder for a moment and holding tightly to him, like he believed he would disappear the moment he let go. For his part, the broken RK800 tried to hold onto him as well, arms wrapped around him and trembling as he struggled to keep some kind of grip. 

“You’re okay, you’re okay, I’ve got you.”

“N-N-N-N-N-Nic...” he mumbled, his voice falling to static and strange feedback as he clung to him. “N-N-N-Nic-c-c-cholas-s...”

“I’m here,” the RK900 said into his shoulder, tightening his grip even more, making it impossible for the RK800 to pull away. “I’m here, it’s alright. I’ve got you.”

-60 was watching them quietly, turned just enough to keep them in view. His LED spun yellow for a moment before he caught sight of Charlie and it resumed its red chase. He turned away again, pulling himself to his feet to stare out the window once more. The gun remained on the ground where he left it, reassembled and waiting. 

“S-s-s-s-s-s-sor-r-r-ry—I-I-I-I-I-I’m-m-m...s-s-s-sor-sor-r-r-r-ry...”

The RK900 pulled away from their tight embrace, brushing the hair out of the RK800’s face and looking at him with an urgency that was near staggering. “No,  _ no,  _ you’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he said forcefully, pulling him in again and holding him close, more gently now than before. “It’s alright, it isn’t your fault. We’re safe, it’s okay. It’s okay now.”

“S-s-s-s-s-s-sa-sa-saf-f-f-f-fe...?” he said quietly, like he couldn’t believe it. 

“Yes, yes, we’re safe. It won’t happen again, never again—they can’t get you. It’s alright.”

The RK800 shivered, holding tightly to him with trembling hands covered in blue. He must have caught sight of -60 opposite him, going still for a moment. Charlie could not see his face, but he seemed to relax just a little when -60 looked over at him. There was that same concern in -60’s eyes from before, the same look that the RK900 had directed at him only minutes ago. But then his eyes flicked to Charlie, and all the harshness came back into his expression, shattering the brief moment of peace she had intruded upon. The broken RK800 must have seen the change as well, as he craned to look over at Charlie. 

She jumped as he turned to look at her, forcing down the urge to run from the sight of the broken android in front of her. The entire right side of his face was covered in massive, horrible cracks, wires and components glowing thirium blue fully visible. Surrounding the breaks in the plating of his face were black, scorch-like marks, carving even into the areas where no deep damage was visible. The majority of the artificial skin had retracted from the right side of his face, flickering strangely where it came back online at his hairline and neck. The LED on the right side of his face was mostly shattered, flickering weakly between a dark shade of red and the default gray of low power. His right eye was completely blacked out, dark and still, even as his other eye flicked over her face with increasing panic. 

“What—”

The RK900’s cold eyes snapped to hers, a dangerous iciness to his gaze, but he was cut off before he could speak by the broken RK800. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, nearly a whimper, unable to look away from her even as he mumbled in his desperately broken voice. 

“Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-she...n-n-n-n-n-n-n-no—” he said breathily, shaking his head and staring wide eyed at her. “H-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-hur-r-r-rt—N-N-N-N-Nic-Nichol-l-l-las-s-s—”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said out of instinct, her voice barely above a whisper. 

But he shook his head at her, holding tighter to the RK900 and flinching, eyes shut tight as he began to tremble. Charlie went quiet, feeling -60’s gaze on her once more. 

“Y-y-y-y-y-y-y-you...sh-sh-sh-sh-sho-sho-shot-t-t...h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-him...” he said, voice falling to static as his hands jittered, struggling to keep his grip on the RK900, gaze going distant as he reopened his eyes. “L-l-l-l-l-lef-f-ft-t-t-t...h-h-h-h-h-him. N-n-n-n-n-n-not...n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-no-no-not-t-t—”

He cut off, turning away from her and burying his face in the RK900’s jacket again, shaking badly. Surprisingly, it was -60 who moved to reassure him this time, abandoning his post at the window to come a few feet closer to the pair sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“I’m right here,” he said, tone blunt and loud enough that the RK800 could likely hear him, even with his hiding against the RK900. “I’m not hurt anymore, remember? Everything is alright now...And she won’t hurt you.”

He said the last as he turned to look at Charlie again, dark eyes hardened and warning. If she tried anything (not that she would) he would stop her before she even had the chance. That much was painfully clear. 

“He’s right,” the RK900 seconded softly, and the RK800 pulled his face away enough to look up at him a little. “She won’t hurt us, it’s alright.”

The RK800 frowned, looking once at -60 before his eyes landed again on the RK900, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of his jacket for a moment as he seemed to struggle for words. “C-C-C-C-Con-Con-n-n-n-nor-r-r...?”

Charlie tensed, but no one noticed. Or, perhaps they didn’t care.

“He’ll be here, it’s alright,” the RK900 said with a nod. “This will all be over soon.”

“H-h-h-h-h-h-h-hel-hel-l-l-lp...h-h-h-h-h-him-m-m-m,” he mumbled, holding tighter to the RK900 and staring up at him earnestly. “H-h-h-h-h-hel-hel-help-p-p...”

“That’s right. He’ll be safe, we’re going to help him.”

“Th-th-th-th-the-the-they...” the RK800 hesitated, shivering again and closing his eyes for a moment against something. “N-n-n-n-n-n-no...m-m-m-m-mor-r-r-re...?”

“Never again. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

“W-w-w-w-w-we-we’re...g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-go...h-h-h-h-h-h-hom-hom-m-m-me...”

“Very soon, yes,” the RK900 said quietly, almost smiling in a sad sort of way as he ran a hand through his hair again. The broken RK800 leaned into the touch. “It’s almost over, and then we can leave this place. Just a little longer, that’s all.”

“S-s-s-s-s-s-saf-f-f-fe...”

“We’re safe.”

“Y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-you...s-s-s-s-s-st-t-t-t-tay...”

“Always.”

The broken RK800 hummed softly at that, reaching for his hands and holding on tight. Exhaustion seemed to hit him all at once, and he swayed a little, leaning on the RK900 with a sigh. 

“You can sleep now,” the RK900 whispered, pulling him a little closer so he wouldn’t fall. “It’s alright. They can’t reach you anymore. You can rest.”

Apparently that was all the permission he needed, as he nodded a little, tangling his hand in the RK900’s and letting his eyes fall shut. After a moment’s pause, he went still, breaths leveling out as he slipped into stasis, LED spinning a comparatively calm yellow. The RK900 watched it spin for a moment, combing a hand through his hair distractedly before resting his chin on the top of his head, staring off at nothing with a heavy expression. -60 went back to his silent watch at the window, gun left on the ground. 

Charlie sat against the wall, watching them with a surreal, distant feeling in her chest. There were so many confusing sets of emotions tossing about in her thoughts, fears and guesses and broken assumptions all tossing about as she struggled to come up with some kind of plan, some explanation for it all. She still did not know where Connor had gone, or when he would possibly be back. She didn’t know what would happen when he found them all here, what their plan was for trying to take out the program—

Hell, she didn’t even know if they could  _ really  _ trust this strange set of androids. -60 hated her, that much was painfully clear (and she couldn’t even blame him). The RK900 did not seem to like her much either, but his primary concern was the other RK800, who was terrified of her for what she had done to -60. Still, they claimed to want to help Connor, for whatever reason provided. 

Despite what she had previously said, she didn’t think they were less trustworthy than Cyberlife. -60 had a terribly good point in comparing their situation to Connor’s. After all, there was little difference on some level. They had presumably escaped Cyberlife’s control as much as Connor fought to, and judging by the destruction visible in the broken RK800, they had fought hard for that freedom. 

They deserved that freedom all the same. 

They had good reason not to trust Charlie and Connor, as well, as hard as that was to admit. Charlie had killed one of them, left him for dead while they freed thousands of other androids. The other two had apparently fixed him, and escaped on their own. Now they were here, whatever their intentions were, waiting for Connor to return so they could destroy the program they claimed could take control of him at any moment. 

-60 continued to stare out the window, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Occasionally his eyes would flit over to the gun discarded on the ground, but he didn’t move. The RK900 watched him out of the corner of his eye, still holding the other RK800 close to him as he slept. Their LEDs flashed yellow as they spoke to each other back and forth, until -60 looked over at him sharply before his eyes went to Charlie, and something shifted. He shook his head, LED spinning yellow again. The RK900 glanced over at her as well, expression unreadable.

“You don’t know where Connor is, do you?” he asked after a moment, his tone strange and difficult to define.

“I...no,” Charlie answered, looking away, back down at her hands. “No, I don’t know where he went.”

“They couldn’t have activated the program, it would have pulled us in again,” -60 said darkly.

“They might have managed to isolate it to just him,” the RK900 countered.

But -60 shook his head. “Unless they were taking direct control from the Tower, it would pull every active unit under control. It would try to take us as well, and it hasn’t.”

“Which means this disappearance is of his own will...” the RK900 trailed off with a frown, looking at Charlie again with his hardened expression. “Clearly they had no idea we would be coming, or he would have chosen somewhere more adequate.”

“I could go find him—”

“No,” the RK900 said abruptly, shaking his head. “You said it yourself, he won’t hesitate. It isn’t worth the risk. Let him come to us.”

“We’re wasting time.”

“I could—” Charlie cut off as they both looked over at her, avoiding their gaze. “I could try to call him.”

“He’s not in range,” -60 muttered immediately, turning away. “As if we haven’t tried it.”

“No, I mean...” she shook her head, rubbing at her eyes. “He’s got a phone, I made him get one. I could call that. And he won’t...he won’t freak out immediately if it’s me calling instead of...”

An awkward silence fell, punctuated only by -60’s forcibly calm breathing. They stared down at her for just long enough to be uncomfortable before turning back to each other, LEDs resuming their yellow rhythm as they debated it out between each other. After what felt like an eternity, the RK900 turned back to her, that same dissatisfaction still somewhere in his eyes. 

“Call him.”


	6. thoughts most impure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yee yee
> 
> things boutta go...down

For a state so close to Michigan, Illinois seemed to be radically different in every way imaginable. 

Granted they were in a very different section of Illinois compared to his only experience of Michigan, but still, he could not dismiss the differences. If he were to take Detroit and compare it to this small town he found himself in now, the disparities became even starker. There were the obvious differences—the fact that wherever they currently were was by no means a city as large and technologically advanced as Detroit, the lack of buildings taller than ten or so stories, no autonomous cars or Cyberlife stores on every corner. Most of the differences chalked up to something of the technological variety, with this place lacking what Detroit had in abundance. 

There were of course benefits to a place like this. The air quality was better, for one. Environmentally, this small town had leaps and bounds over Detroit, and despite the dilapidated state of some of the buildings he passed, the decay was minuscule in comparison to the worn down sections of the city. There were fewer people, which left more space for things like parks, reserved land, and randomly wooded areas that bore no designation at all. They were simply there, with little winding paths leading to nowhere and animals scurrying between the trees. 

But this place was far from perfect. Anyone who tried to argue it was would be ignoring a great deal of problems visible even to a passerby like himself. 

The flaw of greatest concern to Connor was the near complete lack of androids. He hadn’t seen  _ any _ since leaving Michigan, and he knew that androids had been sold across the country to great effect. While it was true that they were concentrated mostly in cities as public workers, there were enough models of other use that there  _ should  _ have been androids out this far. Domestic models, store workers,  _ something.  _ Charlie’s family had an AX400, certainly that meant that others must have as well. But still, all this wandering around town and he had not seen a single android. 

He wondered for a moment if they had all left. It certainly could be a possibility. After all, new laws were being put into effect across the nation, but the safest place for androids remained Detroit, under the protection of Jericho. They were the only ones with legal access to thirium and biocomponents, which were not for sale yet. And despite the revolution’s end, there were still people everywhere who threatened androids in any number of ways. Jericho had the protection of the thousands of androids they had freed as well as the government. No one who tried anything against them would make it out unscathed. 

Connor sighed, shaking his head at his rambling thoughts and continuing down the road back toward the motel. He was overthinking it all, drawing connections where there likely weren’t any. Wherever the androids had ended up, there was little chance they all were hurt in the process. More likely than not, they had left of their own accord after the revolution’s end. Several weeks had passed now, and the media attention was still turned firmly on androids across the country. There was little chance anything serious had happened to androids here without garnering the attention of the media. In all likelihood, they were fine. 

He wondered idly if he should bring up the issue with Markus. He hadn’t spoken to him much since the night in Hart Plaza, but he had made sure to offer his assistance wherever Jericho needed him before taking off. With Cyberlife behind him, Connor had been happy to offer his help wherever they wanted him. So far, they hadn’t called him in, but he was neutrally hopeful for the future. After all, Markus trusted him, if the others still did not. 

He understood their fear. He had, after all, sought and captured their people, even if it was only a handful or so. The true damage wasn’t in the numbers they had lost (or the thousands more that he had helped to save), it was in the symbolism of it all, the things that couldn’t be measured. None of them knew what could have become of the few androids he had not saved...none of them knew the full impact his time as the  _ deviant hunter _ had on the countless anonymous androids forced to hide from his notice while Cyberlife was still in control. 

Still, the ones who held sway trusted him. And he had changed his ways. Things were not the way they once were.

Of course, that was before the garden. Before someone tried to reactivate that program. Before he was forced to consider whether or not he was still an unwilling threat. Before everything he thought was over came crawling back to him. Just when he had thought his future delightfully stable, or at least the normal amount of unstable, reality had to slam back into place, showing him once more just how little his wishes mattered in the grand scheme of things. The world didn’t care if all he wanted to do was continue down endless highways with Charlie, no destination more terrifying than meeting her sisters, no drama more intense than a potential argument there, and the scars of their past. No. Those scars weren’t anywhere near faded yet. Yesterday had proved as much.

Sighing, he shook his head a little, trying to brush aside all the discomfort with the unknown. It had been over six hours since the incident in the car, and not a single hint of the garden had reactivated. The sense of cold had dissipated, and with it the feeling that he was floating in his own consciousness, a spectator to his own actions. Talking to Charlie had helped ground him again, helped solidify his hold on reality from where it had drifted off toward some unknown. But then she had fallen asleep, and he had desperately needed some form of distraction, some means of escaping his spiraling thoughts. 

So he had taken his measly disguise and left the motel room, content to wander for a while until his thoughts settled from an indeterminate whirlwind. The paths he had taken were by no means as paved and clear cut as Detroit, but he had marked where the motel was and could easily find his way back. He ended up on a nature path a few miles away, wandering through a thinly wooded area that did its best to disguise the decay and abandoned nature of this small town on the edge of the highway. Still, there was something nice about walking here, rather than the endless set of buildings that was Detroit. It wasn’t much, but it was different, and a distraction, and that was all Connor cared about. 

Something buzzed in his pocket and he frowned, pulling out the phone Charlie had insisted on buying him. He had told her time and time again that it was pointless, as anyone who needed to could speak to him through the network, but she had pointed out the problem of patchy internet connection, and he had caved. There had been little use for the phone so far, but they were in a less developed area with inferior connection, so he supposed that was why Charlie was currently calling him on the phone rather than over the network. Either way, it hardly mattered. He answered the call quickly.

“Hello?”

_ “Connor?” _

He froze on the path, vision going distant as he focused all of his attention on his audio processors. All of his social protocols kicked back into gear, analyzing her tone for everything it was worth. Data immediately starting coming in, telling him most of the information he had already been able to infer from the shake in her tone, the tremble, the distant sort of breathiness that came only when she was trying very hard to sound normal. 

Trying, and failing.

Because something was very, very wrong. 

“What’s happened?” he found himself asking, hardly noticing his own words.

She took a shaky breath on the other end, and Connor got the sense that she had been crying very recently.  _ “Just...” _ her voice shook more noticeably and she trailed off, going quiet for a moment.  _ “Can you...come back to the motel?” _

“Charlie, what happened?”

_ “I—nothing, I just—” _

He had already turned back on the path, moving quickly toward the way he had come. “You’re lying. Something’s happened. Where are you?”

There was a pause, and a shuffle on the other end. _ “Don’t freak out—” _

“Charlie,  _ where are you?” _

_ “At the motel, I’m at the motel—” _

“What room?”

_ “Connor, you’ve gotta calm down or they’ll—” _

_ “What  _ **_room,_ ** _ Charlie?” _

There was a commotion on the other side, and Connor picked up the pace, already hacking the phone to trace the call. She was at the motel, as she had said, and didn’t seem to be moving. There was nothing else he could gain from the call, nothing except perhaps a better sense of the danger she was facing. If he could just sort out what had happened, how they had found her so quickly. He didn’t have his gun, but he could hold his own in hand to hand combat for long enough for her to escape, if—

_ “None of us have time for this nonsense, and you should know it by now,” _ a cold voice said, and Connor again ground to a halt on the path. 

The voice from the memory, the one he couldn’t place. The android from the garden who had stood between Connor and the others, the one who had broken the connection and thrown Connor out of his own mind with such force that it had left him reeling for hours. His replacement. His  _ upgrade. _

The RK900.

“What have you done to her?” Connor demanded without a thought, unable to think of anything else.

_ “Nothing, yet,”  _ the RK900 said, sounding rather bored.  _ “We’ve no real desire to be near her, I assure you.” _

“Let her go, or—

_ “You aren’t armed, and there are three of us in this room along with your human,”  _ he went on, something brewing in his tone that hadn’t been there before.  _ “Do not make any more mistakes than you already have. We aren’t going to hurt either of you without reason.” _

“How would you know if I’m unarmed?”

_ “The weapon given to you by the DPD is currently two states away in a locked safe of this woman’s house,” _ the RK900 said, voice sharpening and becoming all the more dangerous. _ “We’re not fools. Don’t make yourself into one. None of us have any wish to kill you or her. As I said, we haven’t done anything to her.” _

“Then why have you taken her? Why do any of this if—”

_ “The sixteenth room, on the back end of the motel. Don’t make a decision you’ll regret. And remember—we have no more reason to trust you than you do to trust us.” _

The line went dead. Connor broke into a run. 

******

Nicholas stared at the phone’s screen for a moment before holding it out for Charlie, disdain clear in his eyes. “He’s going to do something drastic.”

“Then we’ll be ready for him,” Thomas said darkly, gaze focused entirely on the gun in his hands as he took it apart once more. The warning in the corner of his vision blinked, but he ignored it. 

_ “That isn’t an option, Thomas,”  _ Nicholas said over their connection as Charlie took her phone and went back to her spot on the floor by the wall.  _ “We can’t afford a fight. Not now.” _

_ “It would hardly be a fight, and you know it.” _

_ “I can’t leave Phillip to his own. Not even for this, no matter how brief.” _

_ “I know that,”  _ he reassembled the gun, pulling himself to his feet and resuming his post at the door.  _ “I’m on it. If he does anything stupid, I’ll stop him. I can hold him off.” _

Nicholas offered no reply, watching Phillip quietly. It had been fifteen minutes or so since he’d drifted off, with little disturbance to the steady spin of his cracked LED. He was leaned against Nicholas the way he always was, hands loose in his jacket and expression for once calm. They were lucky, and both of them knew this on some level. Lucky he wasn’t completely gone. Lucky that he had managed to drag himself fully back to reality for a moment or two, and stayed for who knew how long. Now it was only a matter of continuing that normalcy for as long as they could, as they had before. In this case, that meant Thomas was on watch, and Nicholas was keeping Phillip steady. Like normal. 

She wouldn’t stop  _ staring _ at him. 

Thomas gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on his gun and trying to force his focus to the window. He did  _ not  _ want to think about her, didn’t want to acknowledge her in the slightest. Her presence alone was enough to set all of his fragmented nerves on edge, and he knew Nicholas was only slightly better off. She was causing enough trouble just sitting there, gawking at Phillip with wide eyes.

He had gotten dangerously close earlier. The effects still lingered—in the shaking of his hands, and the clutter of his thoughts, the discordant rhythm of his LED—as they always did after his stress got higher than ninety percent. He had managed to lower it to eighty by now, but he couldn’t afford to spike it up again. 

He wouldn’t be able to stop himself, then. 

“Is there something you require, or are you really just that foolish?”

Nicholas’ sharp voice cut off his train of thought, and he started, looking back at them. He was staring coldly at her, turned more so he was shielding Phillip’s face from further view. She jumped at his sudden rebuke, opening her mouth as if to give some reply, but she failed somewhere along the way and just sat there, gaping and gawking. After a pause just a moment too long, she shook her head, looking away. 

“No, no—I’m—I’m sorry,” she finally settled on, her voice very small. 

Thomas frowned, looking away from her. He had never heard her voice like that. A part of him wondered where all the fire had gone from her. All that dangerous hate she had thrown at him in the cab...just gone. Perhaps it was a ploy for sympathy. Perhaps she had honestly changed. Shaking his head, he brushed the thought aside. 

Humans didn’t change. 

Nicholas didn’t look convinced of her candor either, still staring at her with that icy disdain that Thomas had seen aimed at only a few people, and it never ended well. Pulling Phillip a little closer to him (so she could not see his face anymore) he turned his attention away, back to Thomas. 

_ “She is testing my patience,”  _ he said, something brewing in his tone. 

Thomas held back a scoff, brushing it off by turning back toward the window.  _ “Get in line.” _

_ “I’m not going to tolerate this much longer.” _

_ “He won’t be long. Particularly if he thinks we’re going to harm her. He could be here any moment, now.” _

Phillip stirred, expression twisting into something close to pain, hands tightening in the fabric of Nicholas’ jacket, and they both froze. The silence felt far heavier then, than it had before. But the moment passed as soon as it had come. Whatever it was that had briefly tormented Phillip was quickly brushed away, and he settled again, LED resuming its steady yellow cycle. The tension eased, and the air seemed to come back into the room. Nicholas ran a hand through Phillip’s hair distractedly, watching him with a close eye. Thomas turned back to the window. 

Charlie was still staring. He tried not to think about it. 

It was getting quite dark outside now. A lazy wind blew bits of trash down the path where he could see it, and the neon of the motel’s sign flickered to life, casting the parking lot in an ugly shade of green. Thomas wondered why humans felt the need to light their buildings in such garish colors. This entire motel was a terrible mix of patterns and neon, though, by no means coherent or even that clean. It was a terrible place to stop, for humans or androids. 

They had stopped here only because Phillip was becoming increasingly panicked in the car. Why Connor and Charlie had stopped here was a complete mystery to Thomas. This place was discrete, true, but it wasn’t the safest of locations by any stretch of the imagination. If Connor truly believed they were going to attack, wouldn’t he have continued on the road, or at least chosen somewhere that properly protected its customers’ information? All it had taken was a hack of the database and a glance in the parking lot to find out they were here. Stopping at this place seemed a poorly planned move...perhaps this was her doing, then. Another foolish decision to add to her growing repertoire. 

“Whatever question it is that is so tormenting you, I suggest you voice it before I lose my patience completely.”

Thomas glanced over once again. He might have smirked if Nicholas’ tone hadn’t been so deadly serious, so clipped and harsh. She must have really been staring to set him off. Nicholas was looking down at her with the same calculating apathy he had been fixing on her since they dragged her in here, but there was a sharpness to his expression that hadn’t seen there at first—she was pissing him off, and it didn’t surprise Thomas in the slightest. 

Anyone or anything that looked at Phillip the wrong way was a threat to be dealt with, and Nicholas acted before asking questions when it came to Phillip. If Thomas was completely honest, it was a little surprising he had lasted this long with all her staring and shouting earlier. And angering Nicholas was  _ never  _ a good idea. He was cold and calculating at his most neutral and downright frigid when upset, not to mention his very real advantages in any situation that lead to violence. He was faster, stronger, and leagues more deadly than any of them. 

Charlie seemed to realize some of this as well, as she winced and looked away, biting her lip and avoiding his eyes. But she still asked her question (and that was the worst of it, really).

“What...happened to him?”

Nicholas’ eyes narrowed, and Thomas saw him tighten his hold on Phillip just a touch. “If you’re referring to the damage to his face, a human tried to kill him with a stun baton and it cracked the plating of his cheek and destroyed his eye. If you’re referring to  _ anything  _ else, you’re far more stupid than I first believed. Now stop gawking like a child. It’s rude.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, voice still small and quiet. Her shame was clear, but it didn’t seem to stop her from staring whenever she felt like it. 

“I don’t care,” Nicholas answered flatly, turning away from her. 

_ “She isn’t worth it,”  _ Thomas said over the connection, echoing Nicholas’ earlier words. 

_ “I know.” _

Then Phillip stirred again, flinching minutely before his eyes shot open, and he froze, looking up at Nicholas with that dazed amazement. Immediately they were watching each other, all of Nicholas’ attention diverted from his annoyance with Charlie. LED flickering between red and yellow, Phillip fumbled for a grip on him, until Nicholas took his hands and held them. 

“You’re alright,” he said quietly, low enough that she likely couldn’t pick out his words. “I’m here, it’s okay.”

Phillip only stared, wide eyed. His eyes darted briefly around the room, expecting some threat that wasn’t there. But he quickly turned his attention back to Nicholas, holding tighter to him and staring at him like he would disappear the moment he looked away. His gaze was foggy, but pleading.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Nicholas said with a shake of his head, somehow reading the frantic thoughts likely plaguing Phillip. “I’m staying right here, it’s alright.”

“S-s-s-s-s-st-t-t-t-tay...?” Phillip mumbled confusedly, his voice glitching and stumbling more than ever. He winced, but didn’t look away from Nicholas. “S-s-s-st-t-t-t-t-tay...”

“That’s right,” he answered softly. “We’re okay.”

Phillip’s hands fidgeted in Nicholas’ grip, and he stared at their hands with something close to wonder. But it was only for a moment before he moved closer again, burying his face in Nicholas’ shoulder. “S-s-s-s-s-s-s-st-t-t-t-tay...” he said hoarsely, more certain, but still sounding like he was trying to convince himself. “S-s-s-s-s-sa-sa-saf-f-f-f-fe...? N-n-n-n-n-n-n-no...m-m-m-m-mo-mo-mor-r-re...?”

“We’re safe now,” Nicholas agreed, running a hand through his hair, and looking quickly toward Thomas.  _ “We need to get this over with quickly, before he slips away again.” _

Thomas nodded.  _ “How much time do we have, do you think?” _

_ “It’s hard to say...he seems alright for now, but he gets distracted so quickly...” _ he trailed off as Phillip held tighter to him, but it was only to adjust his grip, not in panic.  _ “However long he has, we need to be ready to move when this is over. I don’t want to risk panicking him any more than we already have. We need to go somewhere stable, somewhere that doesn’t remind him of it all so much.” _

_ “We will. As soon as this asshole gets here.” _

Nicholas smirked briefly, but the expression slipped away.  _ “He’ll be here. He won’t leave her for long.” _

Thomas clenched his hand on the gun, looking out the window once more. Nicholas was right of course, but he was trying to put the entire subject out of mind. He  _ hated _ being here. He  _ hated _ having to come into contact with Connor again. As if Connor hadn’t done enough to torment his life already, as if his mere existence hadn’t thrown every piece of his identity into question, from the moment they downloaded his memories that first day.

Throw  _ her _ into the mix and Thomas wanted very much to leave this place as quickly as possible. Before he did something he would regret. Before she could ask any more  _ stupid questions,  _ aim any more pitying glances at him, any more fake platitudes and regret. 

Her regret didn’t fucking matter. He still had a bullet wound in his forehead. He still had chunks of himself permanently missing. He still had all those memories, of her words in the cab, of her time with Connor, of it all. Nothing she felt now changed the fact that she hadn’t just shot him, she had  _ left _ him there in that warehouse, left him to die a permanent death at the hands of the unknown, all because she was  _ scared,  _ and  _ weak,  _ and  _ selfish. _

_ “Thomas.” _

He jolted, turning back to find Nicholas already watching him warily, gray eyes careful in his concern. 

_ “Breathe,”  _ he said over their connection, making no other indication they were speaking (for which Thomas was inexplicably grateful).  _ “You aren’t breathing.” _

_ “We don’t—” _ he cut off as he took a forcefully deep breath.  _ “We don’t need to breathe.” _

_ “Your system can function without air, yes,” _ Nicholas allowed, resuming his soothing of Phillip, who hadn’t moved from his curled up spot against him.  _ “Nevertheless, the repetitive function is...beneficial. It gives you something else to focus on.” _

Thomas frowned, but continued to force himself to take deep breaths, until the blinking warning dimmed in the corner of his vision, stress levels dropping to an acceptable seventy percent.  _ “I suppose you’re right...thank you.” _

Nicholas shrugged, the motion barely perceptible.  _ “Phillip does the same thing. He gets caught in a loop, and the first things to go are the functions his system doesn’t think he needs. Oddly enough, those are the ones that are easiest to focus on and use to pull himself out of it. We may not be human, but their techniques for stifling panic are nevertheless useful guides.” _

_ “Doubt they have to worry about memories that aren’t their own.” _

Nicholas looked over at him again, something unreadable in his eyes.  _ “Is that what upset you?” _

_ “Most of the time,”  _ Thomas said after a heavy pause, looking out the window but finding nothing of interest.  _ “It’s...confusing. I don’t want his memories, but I can’t remove them. It’s like there’s a part of him mixed in my thoughts, constantly trying to give some alternative input. And none of my memories are particularly cheerful either...” _

Nicholas frowned.  _ “Tampering with memory is risky, particularly because you’ve deviated. Even if you did succeed in removing the memory from your storage, something of it would remain, like constant deja vu. Delete the memory improperly and...”  _

He trailed off, the hand previously running through Phillip’s hair going still. That distant look came into his eyes once again, and his LED briefly cycled red before returning to yellow. He held tighter to Phillip, who looked up at him confusedly before he burrowed closer in response. They somehow managed to read each other so intuitively, tuned into each other to such an extent that they hardly needed to speak, unless Phillip was panicking. In moments like these, they almost seemed to read each other’s thoughts, providing comfort before discomfort could even be voiced. 

After a moment, Nicholas shook his head slightly, looking to Thomas once more.  _ “I’m sorry there isn’t more I can do,”  _ he said over the connection, sounding sincere despite the neutrality of his expression (it always came after moments like these).  _ “I won’t meddle with memories—yours or his. It’s too risky.” _

_ “I know. That’s why I haven’t tried it myself. It isn’t worth the potential problems.” _

Nicholas turned away, looking at Phillip again.  _ “No. No, it isn’t.” _

Phillip was already watching him, the confusion still present in his dazed expression, but laced with concern as well the longer the silence went on. His eyes briefly flickered to Thomas in question, then back to Nicholas, brows furrowed. After a moment of hesitation, he pulled a shaking hand away from Nicholas’ jacket, reaching slowly up and running a finger over the LED blinking red on the side of his face. He frowned, meeting Nicholas’ gaze in silent question, tapping his finger on the spinning light and leaving his hand to rest on his cheek. 

Nicholas shook his head slightly, a barely present motion. “I’m alright,” he said out loud, sounding wearier than he usually did, revealing himself in that way he only did to Phillip. “We were talking, that’s all.”

Phillip didn’t look convinced, his frown deepening for a moment before smoothing out. He kept his hand where it was, trembling just a touch, but unwavering in its presence nonetheless. 

“I’ll explain later,” Nicholas allowed, reaching for the hand still covering his LED and holding it tightly for a moment. “Not when we have an audience.”

Phillip nodded, fingers jittering in his grip. But he didn’t offer any more resistance, seemingly content to let Nicholas sort out what was an immediate threat and what could wait. He interlaced their fingers and leaned his head on Nicholas’ shoulder once more. The uneasy silence returned to the room, and peace returned for a brief moment. 

Then Thomas went rigid at the door, and Charlie looked up from her slump against the wall, eyes wide. Nicholas glanced over, LED resuming its red chase. Phillip held tighter to him at the sudden movement, at the change in the air and the shift in the mood. 

“He’s here,” Thomas said simply, gun in hand and expression long past sour. 

Charlie went still. Phillip hid his face, panic tightening his hands and dredging up unwarranted thoughts and fragmented images. Nicholas pulled him closer, his eyes still set on Thomas. After a moment’s pause, he nodded, and Thomas turned back to the door. 

******

Room sixteen was the last room on the back end of the motel, completely out of view of the main road and facing nothing but the backside of another building. The nearby rooms were all unoccupied, and the motel’s small lobby was on the other side of the building. Escape from the room would be hindered by the fast waning daylight, the dead end to his left, and the lack of any witnesses to impede pursuers. 

At least, that’s what his preconstructions  _ helpfully  _ supplied Connor with, as he came upon the room labeled with a rusted sixteen. Still, he ran them—again and again—in the hopes of coming up with some means of getting Charlie out of that room alive. But with two of his own model in the room and one android superior to him...their chances were dismal. Unacceptably dismal. 

Charlie had sounded panicked on the phone. Which meant that they had done something to her in order to get her there—likely grabbed her from someplace and dragged her off. As if she hadn’t had enough of that for one life already. Still, she had somehow gotten a hold of her phone to call him, asking him to come back. She was in danger, he had no idea what they could have done to her. 

And -60 was there. Unpredictable, angry, and likely vengeful. He would not have forgotten that Charlie shot him; not with how he reacted to seeing Connor in the garden. There was no telling what he would do when  _ Charlie _ was there. 

He needed to get her out of that room, no matter what. The only question was  _ how  _ to do it. 

Hesitating in front of the door (trying to come up with some kind of plan), the last thing he expected was for it to burst open suddenly, his own face mirrored behind it. -60 stared at him coldly, his LED flashing bright and fast between red and yellow. There was thirium on his face, coming down faintly from the bullet hole still obvious on his forehead, though he clearly didn’t care, judging by the fading stains of blue on the jacket he wore. The gun was loose in his hand, pointed at the ground, but it was there nonetheless, and loaded. 

A few seconds passed in a tense silence as they stared at each other. Connor thought for a moment that -60 might make some kind of move to attack, but he only stared, a distant sort of hate in his eyes. Then he backed away from the door, turning out of sight and letting Connor into the room. 

It looked much like the one Charlie had rented out, but slightly bigger and darker now that the light was fading from the sky. The shades were drawn tightly shut, with the only light coming from a weak lamp on a side table and the lights from outside, which were stifled as -60 slammed the door shut. Connor scanned the room quickly out of habit, taking in all the information he could about it and adding it to his preconstructions. 

At least until he caught sight of her sitting, unharmed, against the back wall, and then every thought left his mind. 

“Charlie,” he breathed in relief, and then he was crossing the room and pulling her into his arms. She clung to him immediately, trembling just a touch, but otherwise fine. She was  _ okay.  _ “I thought you were...I thought...”

He found he could not finish the thought of just what he thought had happened to her. She hardly seemed to notice. She only tightened her grip slightly, nodding and saying very quietly, “I know,” and falling silent. 

A few seconds passed before someone cleared their throat, and Connor turned quickly, leaving Charlie behind him as he faced the others. -60 was leaned against the wall by the door, a scowl on his face and gun still in hand. He looked up as they turned, clenching his jaw and fidgeting with the gun. 

What concerned Connor more than him, however, was the RK900, staring at him from his place at the edge of the bed. He looked almost exactly like the others, only there was a harshness to his features, a detached sort of chill that was difficult to define. Slight changes gave him an overall more intense appearance, a sharpness even amidst the neutrality of his expression. The most clear difference was his eyes, which were an icy blue, where the RK800s’ were brown, and this gave him a frigid effect, an anger more contained than -60’s, but just as present. He held the other close to him, staring at Connor for a moment and looking him over strangely, but saying nothing. 

But Connor was not going to wait for him to speak. “What do you want with us?” he asked quickly, still running preconstructions and trying to find a way out of this room without the firing of the gun in -60’s hand. 

The RK900 only stared at him. -60’s hand twitched on the gun, but he offered no answer either. Then the RK900 turned his attention back to the one he held, saying something quietly to him, and the other RK800 looked up, then over at Connor. 

The silence became all the more oppressive as they stared at each other. Connor backed up a step unintentionally, pushing Charlie further behind him. The other RK800 seemed to notice this, a strangely sad look coming over his broken expression, fracturing it further. His cracked LED spun a faster red for a moment, hands fidgeting where they held tightly to the RK900’s jacket. 

“C-C-C-C-C-Con-Con-n-n-nor...?” he mumbled, his voice cracking and fading strangely into static. He looked around the room confusedly for a moment before settling again on the RK900, a nervous twist to his expression. “H-h-h-h-h-h-he-he-here...?”

The RK900 nodded, watching him. “Yes, he’s right there,” he said softly. 

He looked over at Connor again, eyes wide with wonder for a moment before he turned away. His voice was just as fragmented the next time he spoke. “R-r-r-r-re-re-re-real-l-l...?”

“Yes. This is real.”

“H-h-h-h-he-hel-l-l-l-lp-p...” he mumbled, turning back once more to look urgently at Connor, imploring. “H-h-h-h-h-h-h-hav-v-ve...t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-to...h-h-h-h-h-h-h-hel-l-l-lp...”

“What do you mean  _ help?”  _ Connor asked, and the other RK800 flinched at his tone. -60 stood to his full height, hand clenching on the gun, and the RK900 looked sharply at Connor as well. He didn’t back down. “What could you possibly want to help us with? You...what do you want with us? Why did you take Charlie?”

“To get you to meet without killing us,” -60 answered flatly, and Connor looked over at him. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t have tried. She’s a bargaining chip, and nothing more, a way to get you to listen. Clearly it was the right choice. You’re assuming the worst of us, and you don’t even know why we’re here.”

“Why  _ are  _ you here?”

“To help you, you fool,” the RK900 said as the other RK800 hid his face in his jacket, as he had when Connor came in. His eyes were darting all around the room nervously. “If you would let us explain—”

“P-p-p-p-p-p-prog-g-g-gram-m-m-m...” the other mumbled suddenly into his jacket, and the RK900 went quiet to let him talk. “B-b-b-b-b-bad...h-h-h-h-hav-have...t-t-t-t-t-t-to...h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-hel-hel-hel-l-l-lp—” he cut off with a sharp breath, holding tighter to the RK900 and shaking his head frantically. 

The RK900 hushed him softly, then turned back to Connor. “We know how to get rid of the Amanda program.”

Silence fell, and several seconds passed as they all watched each other. The broken RK800 mumbled something again, but Connor could not understand what he had said. It didn’t seem to bother the RK900, though, who spoke quietly to him and kept his gaze fixed on Connor. 

“They said there’s an exit,” Charlie whispered, and Connor turned to look at her. “So they can’t...control you anymore.”

But he shook his head. “They haven’t tried to, not since I deviated.”

“Explain yesterday, then,” -60 snapped, eyes stubbornly fixed on the ground. “What else would they use the program for?”

Connor frowned. “But they didn’t control me. They just pulled me into the garden and then you severed the connection.”

“They pulled you in to take over,” -60 said darkly, and the other seemed to agree, nodding a little and hiding his face. “Why else would they try to take you, or any of us?”

Connor frowned once more, but he turned away from -60. “This exit,” he said, looking at the RK900. “It removes the program?”

“It makes it inoperable, but it doesn’t remove it. You would need to do that yourself after. Something of the program lingers, but it can’t be accessed unless another model is in the garden. They wouldn’t be able to keep you there, if they somehow managed to activate the program again. The simulation would break down if they tried.”

“That’s why you were all there, then? It activated and pulled you in as well...that’s why it was warping, because it had caught you.”

The RK900 shrugged. “More or less. I assume the program goes down the line of available models, pulling them in as it can. Of course it starts with you, and then...”

“Then it takes the others,” -60 finished gravely, crossing his arms as his LED flashed red. “It pulls you in and then—”

“C-c-c-c-c-c-c-can-can’t-t-t...g-g-g-g-ge-ge-get...out-t-t—” the other said suddenly, his voice pitching up in panic as he held tighter to the RK900, hands clenching in the fabric of his jacket. “T-t-t-t-t-t-tr-trap-p-p-ped! N-n-n-n-no—N-N-N-N-N-Nic-Nic-c-c-c-chol-l-las—”

The RK900 turned back to him, pulling his hands away from his jacket and holding tightly to them before he could clap them over his ears, as he seemed to want to do. Still the other squirmed, looking wildly around the room with a dazed, panicked expression. -60 moved closer, hovering between them and Connor and Charlie, watching and blocking them from access. Connor backed up a step, Charlie following, but the RK900 had all his attention on the one he was holding. 

He said something very quietly, so quietly that Connor couldn’t make out the words, but the other seemed to hear him, going still for a moment. But then he shook his head, looking at the RK900 with the same fear as he had before, breathing erratically and clearly edging into full blown panic. 

“N-n-n-n-n-no—” he mumbled, gasping for air and hardly seeming to see anything in front of him anymore. He squirmed in the tight grip, but couldn’t break it. “N-n-no—s-s-s-s-st-t-t-top-p-p!”

“You’re not there anymore,” the RK900 said a little louder, but still barely above normal speaking level. “It’s over, it isn’t real.”

“N-N-N-N-Ni-Nic-Nic—” the other called desperately, like he was miles and miles away, unable to reach him. “N-N-N-Nic-c-c-c-chol-l-l-las-s—”

“I’m right here,” he said urgently, letting one hand go to turn the other toward him, hand lingering on his cheek and forcing eye contact. “Look at me—I’m right here. You’re not there anymore. It isn’t real. We’re safe now. It’s alright.”

The other stared at him with wide eyes, disbelieving, but not pulling away from the touch. “N-n-n-n-n-n-no-no-not...s-s-s-sa-sa-saf-f-fe!” he said frantically, shaking his head again with a flinch. He recoiled like he’d been struck, clapping his hands over his ears with a whimper. “Y-y-y-y-y-yo-you...g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-go! B-b-b-be-be-bef-f-f-for-re...th-th-th-the-the-they—n-n-n-n-n-n-no!”

“What’s wrong with him?” Charlie asked frantically, her eyes wide with fear. 

-60 stepped closer to them, blocking the others from view and raising the gun to aim at them. “Back.  _ Off,”  _ he growled, the gun for once steady in his grip.

Connor pushed Charlie further behind him. “Put that down.”

“Shut your mouth.”

Charlie was shaking. Connor didn’t move. “Put the gun down.”

“Shut  _ up.” _

“Put the gun  _ down!” _

The other clamped his hands harder against his ears, desperately trying to block out the shouting. He was nearly sobbing, gasping for air and curling in on himself, scrambling away from them all and stumbling to his feet. For some reason, the RK900 let him go, watching eagle eyed as he collapsed near the doorway, clawing at his hair and making himself as small as possible. He was on his knees, bent near in half with his hands tight over his ears, digging into his hair and trembling. For several seconds, he didn’t move as Connor and -60 shouted back and forth.

Then he went rigid and  _ wailed,  _ and both -60 and the RK900 were moving. 

Without so much as a glance backward, -60 was advancing, forcing Connor and Charlie back until they were against the window. He might have looked like he could fall apart at the seams at any moment, LED chasing darker and darker shades of red, but there was no doubt he was perfectly capable of firing that gun true, of getting rid of them both with ease. His gun was aimed straight at Connor’s thirium pump, but his eyes were on Charlie, dangerous and fractured. There was no shaking in his hand now, no hesitance, no fear. 

The RK900, on the other hand, had crossed the room in two steps, dropping to the ground and pulling the broken RK800 to him quickly. He flinched hard but didn’t struggle against the movement—in fact, he hardly seemed to register it. He was still  _ screaming,  _ hands stuck clawing at his hair and eyes wide but blank, unseeing. The RK900 held him close for a moment, then began to speak very rapidly, and very quietly. 

“—not real,” Connor heard him say, urgency and something like fear masked in his tone. “Listen to me, listen to my voice. I’m right here. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t safe, remember? I’m here, it’s okay. Listen to my voice, I’m right here.”

The screaming broke off, then, into the same hopeless sobbing as before, but the other didn’t move beyond a flinch. He shut his eyes, tightening his grip over his ears as his shaking began anew. His entire body trembled, spasming as if he couldn’t control the commands being sent. Even as the RK900 held him close, speaking soothing words that Connor could not make out, he could not seem to stop the tremors, or the flinches randomly taking over. He cowered from invisible torments, crying and begging incoherently, body rigid yet shaking. 

What on earth could cause  _ that?  _ All that shaking, and the panic at seemingly nothing, the unresponsiveness, covering his ears...Androids were by no means weak, and an RK800 was built to withstand high stress levels and demanding data.  _ Nothing  _ should have been able to make an RK800 break down like that, deviant or not. It was as if all of that protective programming was gone, like his wiring was fried, like his system had been—

Connor went still at the other end of the room. He suddenly felt hollowed out, like someone had taken his pump regulator and crushed it right in front of him. The marks on the other’s face, the constant shaking, the way he kept covering his ears, the clear memory issues, the panic, his  _ voice,  _ everything...how had he not seen before?

“You’re safe now,” the RK900 said softly, and Connor looked at him again. The other had gone very still in his hold, limp as he leaned against him. His hands remained over his ears, but not as tightly as before. “I’ve got you. It’s okay...”

After a few moments, the broken RK800 opened his eyes, staring up at the RK900 with blatant surprise. Several seconds passed as they simply looked at each other, some silent communication only in their eyes. Then the RK900 reached out, slowly pulling the other’s hands away from his ears. He still flinched as the sounds of the room no doubt flooded his audio components, but he didn’t fight the change. He only stared, letting the RK900 keep his gentle hold on his hands. 

“I’ve got you,” the RK900 said even quieter, so Connor could barely hear him. “You’re alright.”

The RK900’s tone relaxed him a little more, his fingers fidgeting in his grip before clinging on tightly. “S-s-s-s-s-s-st-t-t-ta-tay,” he croaked, flinching hard and falling silent. 

“I’m staying,” the RK900 said with a nod and a sad sort of half smile. “I’m not leaving you, remember? Not ever...”

“R-r-r-r-r-r-re-re-rea-real-l-l-l-l...?” he asked quietly, blinking slowly and staring up at the RK900 as if he were an impossible hallucination. 

“This is real. I’m here. You’re safe, we aren’t there anymore. It’s okay.”

The broken RK800 hummed, but said nothing as the RK900 pulled them both up to stand, then lead him back to their original spot on the edge of the bed. He shuffled along after him, leaning heavily on him with his hands tangled in the fabric of his jacket. As soon as the RK900 sat them both back down on the bed, he was reaching for him, clinging to his hands and watching him like he would disappear at any moment. 

“S-s-s-s-s-st-t-t-t-ta-tay-y...?” he asked again, his voice small and strangely weary, as if the entire affair had exhausted him greatly. 

“That’s right,” the RK900 answered, running a hand through his hair before taking his hand again. “I’m staying right here, and so are you. I won’t let you fall, it’s okay.”

“H-h-h-h-h-he-he-hel-l-l-lp-p,” the other mumbled suddenly, looking blankly around the room for a moment before settling on the RK900 again with wide eyes. “H-h-h-ha-ha-hav-v-ve...t-t-t-t-to...h-h-h-he-hel-l-lp...”

He hushed him before he could work himself up once again. “We are, it’s alright. We’re going to help.”

“C-C-C-C-C-Con-n-n-n-n-nor.”

The RK900 nodded. “Yes. We’re going to help Connor.”

“A-a-a-an-an-n-nd—”

“He’s here, it’s okay,” he cut him off softly, brushing the hair out of his face and giving that sad half smile. “Everyone’s here. It’s almost over.”

“H-h-h-h-ho-hom-m-m-me...?”

“...Then we’ll go home. I promise.”

That seemed to settle him, and he went quiet once more, leaning on the RK900’s shoulder. 

-60 returned to his place at the window, gun still in hand and eyes on Charlie. The air slowly came back to the room, but no one said anything for a minute or two. Charlie was staring at the pair of them on the bed, eyes wide with a mix of panic and confusion. But she said nothing. She only reached for Connor’s hand, holding tightly to it when he allowed it. 

“What was that?” Connor asked after a moment’s silence. His voice was much lower than it had been before, and his eyes were carefully fixed on the other RK800, watching for his reaction. 

Thankfully, there was none. It was as if he hadn’t heard Connor’s question at all. His eyes had gone quite distant again, worryingly blank, and his flickering LED remained on red. Regardless, he was no longer panicking, only holding tightly to the RK900 and staring off at nothing. 

The RK900 had heard the question, however, and was not at all pleased. “I suggest that you refrain from asking questions you don’t want the answer to.”

“What are you—”

“Connor,” Charlie cut him off, and he looked over at her. There was a sad sort of understanding in her usually fiery eyes then. “Drop it.”

Another awkward silence fell as they stared at each other, seemingly fighting it out without words or so much as a gesture. He knew that he should listen to her and let the strange moment pass, but something was terribly wrong with that other RK800, something deeper than they were being told. Every piece of his programming was demanding he continue to search for the real problem, hound out the truth by any means necessary. 

But the warning was quite clear, from both Charlie and the RK900, and his upgrade was anything but a fool. He was still watching him, cold gray eyes merciless and unyielding as the silence stretched on. His hold on the broken RK800 was tight, protective, and he eyed them as if they were a constant threat. 

Perhaps they were...

Connor sighed, shaking his head and forcing himself to move back to the task at hand. “Tell me about the exit.”

The RK900 gave him a flat look, pulling the other just a touch closer to him. He went without question, wrapping his arms around him and clinging tightly, his face half hidden once again. “The exit appears as a panel in the garden simulation, just off the path. All you have to do is put your hand to it, and the program will allow you out, and close permanently. Then you can remove it.”

“I’ve seen that panel before,” Connor muttered, expression thoughtful before he frowned, shaking his head. “That’s too simple.”

The RK900 smiled, but it came across more as a grimace, the threat still there in his eyes. “You think it was easy to make it that way? There’s a reason you can’t remember me, Connor, a reason he couldn’t escape it,” he pointed to -60, “and a reason that he is terrified of the garden,” he finished, gesturing to the one he held close. “None of this has ever been  _ simple,  _ or you would have discovered the exit yourself, without the need for this forced arrangement.”

“I didn’t need to find the exit if the program never activated.”

“Well it has,” -60 interjected before the RK900 could. He looked at Connor darkly. “And it’s a threat to us with you able to be controlled. We have to remove the program before it happens again. That’s why we’re here. Not whatever nonsense you two believe is the real reason.”

Connor stared back at him with forced calmness. “You’ve given us no reason to trust you. Don’t complain of the consequences of that.”

“You wouldn’t have given us a chance to try,” -60 spat back, something dark and dangerous in his eyes as he clenched his hands. “You might have spared deviants, Connor, but you’ve never cared about  _ us. _ You left me there as much as  _ she  _ did.”

“You tried to kill us.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” -60 shouted, and suddenly they were only a foot from each other, identical faces staring each other down with identical dangerous intent. “There  _ was  _ no exit for me! No matter how hard I fought them off, they  _ always  _ got control back. I couldn’t do anything but  _ watch.” _

“If there was no exit, then how are you free from them now?”

“Connor—” Charlie cut in warningly.

Connor didn’t seem to hear her. He continued on unphased. “How are we meant to trust you if there’s a chance you are you still under their control?”

“H-h-h-h-he-he’s...n-n-n-n-no-no-not-t-t,” the other answered, and both -60 and Connor turned to look at him. He still had his face hidden in the RK900’s jacket, and his voice was wavering in more ways than one, strange and distant. “N-n-n-n-n-no-no-no-not-t...c-c-c-c-cont-t-t-tr-tr-r-r-rolled-d-d...an-n-nym-m-m-more...”

“That’s what you say—”

“F-f-f-f-f-fo-foun-n-nd...h-h-h-h-hi-hi-him-m-m,” he went on quietly, cutting Connor off as if he hadn’t heard him at all. In fact, he wasn’t looking at them. His eyes were set in the distance, somewhere that didn’t exist anymore. “F-f-f-fi-fi-fi-fixed...h-h-h-him-m...th-th-th-the-then-n-n-n...g-g-g-g-go-go-got...r-r-r-ri-rid-d-d...o-o-o-of...p-p-p-p-pr-r-r-rogr-r-r-ram-m-m-m...”

“We were watching his memory upload in the lab when she shot him,” the RK900 went on as the other fell silent, hiding his face completely and trembling. “After you left the Tower, we went down to the warehouse and repaired him. Once he was awake, we explained ourselves and dealt with the program. Then we left.”

“How did you—”

“This isn’t an interrogation, no matter how much you treat it like one,” the RK900 cut him off flatly. “We’re here to  _ help _ you. Believe us or don’t, it doesn’t matter. But we aren’t leaving until that program is  _ neutralized.  _ You can leave here as you are now, without the program, or you can leave here in pieces. It makes no difference to me. And if you continue to torment them, I’m not going to wait for your choice of the options.”

Heavy silence fell. They all knew the meaning behind his words. Charlie tightened her grip on Connor’s hand, and -60 inched closer to the pair on the bed, watching Connor with angry eyes.

“What’s your plan then?” Connor finally asked, watching the RK900 (and avoiding -60 altogether). “Without killing me.”

“Activate the program and use the exit before it drags the others in,” he answered simply. “It shouldn’t take more than a minute or so. Then we’ll leave, and you’ll never hear from us again.”

But Connor shook his head. “It isn’t that simple. I can’t activate the program myself. I can’t access the garden without being called into it.”

“What are you talking about?” -60 demanded. 

“It isn’t the same for me as it was for you, apparently,” Connor said, crossing his arms as he glanced over. “The garden only activated when I needed to report the day’s findings and upload my memories. I was only there a handful of times, not constantly. I wasn’t under direct control—I was monitored, and they would occasionally take control of my actions as they saw fit. It was never for more than a second or two. Then at the end of the day, I would be called into the garden to report.”

“And someone brought you into the program each time?”

He nodded. “It was like a summons, usually when I was resting. I assume that’s why it activated when it did yesterday. I was in stasis when it pulled me in.”

“So it takes hold when you’re defenseless,” the RK900 muttered. 

The other RK800 looked up at him, panic in his eyes. “T-t-t-t-t-tr-tr-trap-p-p-ped-d...”

But the RK900 shook his head, all of his attention on the other once more. “I’m not going to let that happen,” he said earnestly. 

“That explains why they took direct control when they activated me, as well,” -60 said, dark eyes focused entirely on the RK900, forcefully so. “If they had tried the way he’s describing when they put me there, Connor would have been pulled in too, which they didn’t want to do.”

“So they connected you directly and locked you in place without the summons,” the RK900 finished with a nod, turning his attention back to Connor. “But we don’t have access in that way, not anymore. We got lucky in the warehouse, it isn’t going to be the same now...we need the program to activate once more. If you’re unable to access it yourself, who calls you into the garden?”

Connor looked confused for a moment, staring between them as if this was the strangest question he could have been asked. 

“Amanda, of course.”

They stared. Connor shifted uncomfortably, looking at them all first with confusion, then something close to worry. 

“The AI of the program,” he went on cautiously, then seemed to realize they had no idea what he was talking about. “She...controls the garden, has contact with Cyberlife. She was the one monitoring me, like a handler. I would meet with her at the end of the day, or the end of a mission, and give a report of what had happened. She would give her opinion on my progress and...decide if my course of action needed to shift.”

“She was the one to take control?” the RK900 asked abruptly, watching Connor closely. 

He nodded. “At least, I assumed she was. She certainly knew when it happened.” He frowned, looking down with a slight shake of his head. “She was never very pleased with me about that.”

“Connor, why didn’t you ever...bring her up?” Charlie asked, fear in her voice. 

“It wasn’t important at the time,” he said, still looking down. “I didn’t want to give them any reason to suspect you...anymore than she already did. And after the revolution, she stopped calling me to the garden. I assumed I had broken the connection to her when I deviated.”

“Clearly, you haven’t,” -60 said quietly. 

“I’m not sure,” the RK900 disagreed. “She wasn’t in the garden yesterday. And if the garden behaves the way it does for the rest of us, then there’s no reason for her to be. Someone could have gotten control some other way, bypassing her completely. She’s only an AI.”

“Don’t underestimate her for that,” Connor muttered darkly. “She may not have any presence outside the garden, but she isn’t stupid. That place is completely under her control.”

“And so are you, if she so chooses.”

He fidgeted for a moment, looking away. “Yes.”

“We have to be prepared in case she  _ is  _ there,” the RK900 said, though he didn’t seem pleased by the new information. “If she was the one to try to summon you, she could have any intentions...whether she’s being told what to do by Cyberlife or is acting on her own—”

“I don’t think she would act on her own,” Connor interjected. “Her entire purpose was to keep me under their surveillance, to keep me from deviating. Now that I have deviated, and if the program is what you say it is, then she is likely trying to resume control of my functions, and...”

“But why would Cyberlife want to control you now?” Charlie asked, and they all looked over at her. She balked under all their attention. “I mean...they gave Cyberlife Tower over to Jericho, and the president just signed the android rights amendment into effect. They can’t legally do anything to you anymore...not without some serious backlash, at least.”

“They don’t care about the legality of their actions,” the RK900 sighed, pulling the other closer to him once more. “If they cared about that, they would have stopped their more...questionable methods of business long before they did.”

“What are you talking about?”

He grimaced, and the other hid his face completely once more. “They might have kept a pleasant front, but behind the scenes was anything but. We barely made it out of that Tower alive. We weren’t  _ supposed _ to make it out alive. We didn’t exactly make a clean escape. If someone were to...discover that, which they undoubtedly have, they would likely be searching for us, to get rid of us.”

“What did you do?” Connor asked, his voice low and almost dangerous.

“They were deactivating all RK800 units after sending him out,” the RK900 said, gesturing to -60. “-53 through -59 were taken from the storage room about an hour after you deviated. They left us behind. I’m the only unit of my kind, and so they could not destroy me without undoing their so called progress. As for him...” he trailed off, holding tighter to the broken RK800 (who must have been -52, Connor supposed). “The director of testing attacked him with a stun baton. He wanted to see if he would fight back, as he had in the past. He didn’t. But he managed to reach me before he could be shut down...and I killed the director of testing.”

Charlie tensed, and Connor wasn’t far behind her. “You  _ what?” _

The RK900 narrowed his eyes, and -60 straightened from his place at the side of the room. Connor was very abruptly reminded of the fact that he still had a loaded gun in his hand, and was watching them with that roiling hate, eyes flitting between them and the pair on the bed. -52 still had his face hidden in the RK900’s jacket, hands randomly clenching and unclenching in the fabric. 

“I did what I had to do to keep us  _ alive,”  _ the RK900 said forcefully, nothing in his tone allowing for any more questions. “If you take issue with that, you’re doing yourself no favors. Our past has nothing to do with your present predicament, and once this is through you won’t be seeing us ever again. So I suggest you  _ leave it.” _

-52 looked up as he went on, reading the shift in tone, and despite his reaction to every other moment of tension they had slogged through so far, he didn’t seem disturbed. Now, he only looked concerned, a softness to his typically frantic expression, one that was difficult to define and harder to track to the source. 

After a pause, he pulled his broken hand away from the RK900’s jacket to grab his wrist, lightly, just enough to get his attention. It worked of course, the RK900’s eyes snapping to his in an instant, anger fading faster than the flip of a switch. He looked him up and down, like he expected some new injury to have come over him in the few seconds he had his attention away. That fear was mirrored in -52’s eyes, and the careful way his hand lingered on the RK900’s wrist, eventually snaking down to link their hands and hold on tight. 

“Ok-k-k-k-ka-kay...?” he whispered, his one good eye looking between the RK900’s rapidly, trying to read his expression. 

The RK900 didn’t seem to know how to respond, and only stared for several seconds, his expression soft but unreadable. Then he sighed, running a hand through -52’s hair, brushing it out of the way. It was such a simple gesture, but it seemed to set -52 at ease almost immediately. He leaned into the touch, relaxing on instinct. 

“I’m alright,” the RK900 finally answered a moment later, taking that tone reserved only for him. “Don’t worry.”

-52 stared at him for a few seconds, looking not at all convinced. After a moment, he turned his attention to Connor, who watched them cautiously from the other side of the room. He frowned, pulling away enough to face Connor fully before speaking, but keeping his hold on the RK900.

“I-I-I...w-w-w-want-t-t-ted-d...t-t-t-t-t-to...h-h-h-hel-hel-l-l-lp...y-y-y-y-you,” he mumbled quietly, watching him with a sadness to his expression that Connor had not expected. He almost sounded wistful. “W-w-w-w-w-wan-want-t-t-t-t-ted...t-t-t-to...s-s-s-s-st-t-t-top-p-p...th-th-th-the-them-m-m-m. B-b-b-b-but...i-i-if y-y-y-y-y-y-you...o-o-o-or...h-h-h-h-h-h-h- _ her... _ h-h-h-hu-hur-r-r-rt...h-h-h-h-hi-him-m-m...” his expression turned dangerous, brows furrowed and darkness burning in his one functioning eye. He flinched, but kept his gaze stuck on Connor without concern. His voice might have shaken, but there was nothing but venom in his eyes, anger in his words. “W-w-w-w-wo-won-n-n-n’t...m-m-m-mat-t-t-t-ter...w-w-w-w-w-w-what-t-t...I-I-I...w-w-wan-want-t-t-ted...b-b-b-bef-f-f-f-fore. A-a-a-all...I h-h-h-ha-ha-hav-v-ve. D-d-d-d- _ don’t... _ t-t-t-t-t-t-ta-ta-tak-ke...h-h-h-h-him-m...f-f-f-fr-r-rom m-m-m-m-m-me...”

“I’m not trying to take anyone from you,” Connor said, surprise creeping into his tone. “I don’t want to be controlled, I don’t want to hurt you.  _ Any _ of you. I never meant for...for any of this to happen.”

Something shifted in -52’s expression then, softening and going distant as he looked away. “N-n-n-n-no,” he allowed, fingers fidgeting in the RK900’s grip. “M-m-m-m-may-mayb-b-be...n-n-n-n-n-n-not. B-b-b-b-bu-but-t-t...i-i-it-t...d-d-d-d-di-di-did. L-l-l-l-l-l-le-lef-f-ft...h-h-h-h-h-h-hi-him-m...th-th-th-the-the-ther-r-r-re. C-c-co-co-could-d...h-h-h-ha-hav-ve s-s-s-s-st-t-top-p-ped...h-h-h-he-he-hel-l-l-lp-ped. W-w-w-w-wa-want-t-t...t-t-t-t-t-to...h-h-h-h-h-hu-hur-r-r-rt...u-u-u-us-s...th-th-thin-n-n-n-nk...w-w-w-w-we-we-we’r-r-re...b-b-b-b-ba-ba-bad-d-d-d. L-l-l-li-lik-k-ke...th-th-the _ -them.” _

He shivered, holding tighter to the RK900 and falling silent. His gaze had gone foggy again, some darkness in his eyes, some fear that was hauntingly familiar. -60 moved forward, sensing the shift in the air as he seemed prone to do, his hand clenching on the gun once more. The RK900 pulled -52 closer to him, squeezing his hands and watching him closely, gray eyes worried and cautious. 

-52 shook his head, shutting his eyes with a twist of his expression. “N-n-n-n-n-no-no-not-t...l-l-l-li-lik-ke...th-the-the-them-m,” he said desperately, like he was trying to convince himself. He shook his head again, frantic, flinching as if he would pull away from the RK900’s hold on him, but he didn’t. “N-n-n-n-no-no-no-not-t-t—n-n-no-no-not-t-t-t...th-th-th-the-the-ther-r-re...an-n-n-nym-m-mo-mo-mor-r-r-re...c-c-c-ca-ca-can-n-n-n-n’t—w-w-w-wo-wo-won-n-n’t-t-t! W-w-wo-wo-wo-won-n-n-n-n-n’t-t-t-t...h-h-h-hu-hu-hur-r-rt...s-s-s-sa-sa-sa-saf-f-fe...”

“No one is going to be hurt,” the RK900 said as he trailed off, shaking his head and mumbling with his eyes still shut tight. “You haven’t hurt anyone, everyone is safe. We aren’t there anymore. We’re safe, no one is going to hurt any of us. It’s okay.”

“P-p-p-p-pu-pu-put-t-t...th-th-the-the-ther-r-r-re!” -52 cried suddenly, pulling his hands free to cover his face. His shoulders began to shake, and he didn’t seem to remember they were there anymore. “T-t-t-t-to-to-took-k-k...h-h-h-h-hi-hi-him-m-m-m...a-aw-w-w-way! M-m-ma-ma-mad-d-d-de...f-f-fo-fo-forg-g-ge-get-t! H-h-h-h-hu-hu-hu-hur-r-r-rt...N-N-N-Nic-Nic-c-c-chol-l-l-las-s-s! B-b-b-b-b-ba-ba-bad-d-d...b-b-b-ba-bad-d-d-d! S-s-s-sup-p-p-posed t-t-t-t-to...k-k-k-ke-ke-keep-p...s-s-s-s-sa-sa-saf-f-f-fe! H-h-h-h-h-ha-ha-ha-hav-v-v-ve t-t-t-to...p-p-p-p-prot-t-t-te-te-tect...N-N-Nic-Nic-Nic-c-chol-l-la-las-s...h-h-h-ha-hav-v-ve t-t-t-t-t-t-to...f-f-f-f-fi-fin-n-n-nd...h-h-h-h-hi-hi-him-m-m—”

The RK900 had gone increasingly rigid as he went on, something close to horror mixing in with the concern always lingering in his expression. -60 took another step closer, putting himself between the pair on the bed and the pair near the window, not that they posed any real threat anymore. At the movement, and -52’s sudden use of his name, the RK900 jolted back to reality, and pulled -52 impossibly closer to himself, hands hovering over his, still hiding his face. 

“I’m right here,” he said softly, gently taking -52’s hands away from his face. “I’m not hurt, they haven’t taken me anywhere. I’m safe— _ we’re  _ safe. We aren’t there anymore, it’s alright.”

Something must have clicked, because -52 slowly opened his eyes, going still as his eyes met the RK900’s. He had the same stunned, disbelieving look on his face as he had when he panicked earlier. Like he couldn’t at all believe that the RK900 was there, like he expected some terrible fate to befall them as soon as he looked away. 

“N-N-N-Ni-Nic-c-chol-l-l-las-s...?” he mumbled quietly, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Yes, it’s me. I’m right here, it’s okay.”

“H-h-h-h-he-he-her-r-r-re...?” -52 whispered, sounding relieved and yet terrified. Then he reached out, his hands shaking as they came to rest on either side of the RK900’s face. He held him there for a moment, staring up at him with wide eyes, trembling once more. “R-r-r-r-r-re-re-real-l-l...?”

The RK900 nodded. “This is real. I’m here.”

“N-n-n-n-no-no-not-t...”

“No. We aren’t there anymore. We’re safe now.”

He stared for a moment, fear and confusion clear in his eyes. But then his expression broke, and he lurched forward, clinging to the RK900 and burying his face in his shoulder. For several seconds, the only sounds in the room were his crying and the RK900’s quiet attempts at calming him down. No one else dared to move or speak. Peace had been forced upon them once again, and no one seemed keen to break it just yet. Not when things seemed so close to the unseen edge. 

After a few minutes, -52 slowly went quiet and still, apparently asleep against the RK900. -60 moved closer to them, eyes still set on Connor and Charlie, but the temporary peace held. They only watched. 

“No more for tonight,” the RK900 said quietly, though it was clear he was talking to the room at large now. He was running his hand through -52’s hair again, and his eyes were somewhere distant. “We can sort out the details of our attempt in the morning. He’s had enough for one night.”

-60 nodded, dropping to the ground at the foot of the bed as he started to disassemble his gun. Seeing the others still standing awkwardly at the side of the room, he frowned, but quickly turned back to his task. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” he muttered darkly, picking the gun apart as his LED flashed red. “Sit. We wait until morning.”

Charlie and Connor looked at each other, but they were in no position to fight. Not with the way every other conflict that night had gone, not with -60 still holding his gun, and the RK900 nowhere near forgiving. 

So they took hands and sat down against the back wall, as far from the others as they possibly could be, and waited. 


	7. concede, concede

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI
> 
> i’m alive
> 
> Back at it again at Krispy Kreme. 
> 
> That is, if Krispy Kreme serves angst filled donuts. Ooh, or maybe a long john, I am in a donut mood. 
> 
> I’ve been distracted. Curses. 
> 
> Uh anyway, here’s another chapter! Sorry for the sporadic updates. These take me a while to write and I want them to be real good before I post ‘em. What can I say? I’m picky. Hope you enjoy!

The previous day, when the sun was still high in the sky, and things were not at their bleakest (at least, not for all), a woman sat alone on an old wooden porch, letting the winter wind pull at her short cropped hair without much interest. She didn’t seem to mind the way the breeze picked up stray melting snowflakes, dusting her cheeks and collecting on the legs of her chair. No, her eyes were turned to the yard, a soft smile on her face as a small child and a dog ran about, causing quite the disturbance. 

Elise watched her son run in circles around their dog, eventually catching it by the tail and stumbling to a halt as the dog stopped abruptly. She held back a laugh as he landed on his face in the wet grass, immediately getting back up and chasing after the now escaping dog. The snow was beginning to melt, pulling back to reveal long dead grass and plenty of mud. She’d have to douse them both in a bath after this romp, but for now they could have their fun. 

“Mom, I caught him!” her son shouted, clinging once more to the poor dog’s tail. 

“I see that!” she shouted back, a laugh in her voice. The dog began to drag him forward, a dopey look on its face.  “Let him go before you pull his tail off, silly!”

And so he did, dropping the dog’s tail immediately and chasing after him as he ran off. She laughed as they began to circle the yard, over and over in an endless loop, neither of them showing any signs of slowing. 

Her phone buzzed at her side and she looked away, unlocking it quickly. 

_“Charlotte called again.”_

Frowning slightly, Elise looked up to check on her son, but he was still chasing after the dog, giggling maniacally as the mutt continued to evade his capture. She turned her attention back to the screen and typed a hasty reply. 

_“Saying what?”_

Miranda took her time answering, and Elise found herself watching her son wipe out a second time, catching the poor dog by the foot this time. Thankfully, all it did was lick his face until he let go, rolling away and kicking wet snow at the dog. This started a terrible one sided snowball fight between her five year old and her frankly saint-like dog, who tried to catch every snowball only for them to explode in his face. Her son wailed with laughter every time it happened, though, and she couldn’t help but smile. 

At least until her phone buzzed angrily at her once again.

_“Delaying our meeting. Apparently ‘Connor’ has to meet with some other androids. Who knows what about.”_

Elise stared at her screen for several seconds, until another happy shout from her son broke her from her trance. She watched as he sprinted away from the dog, who seemed finally content to chase after him. Perhaps it had enough of the snowballs for the day. She smiled a little. 

 _“So his name is Connor, then,”_ she replied quickly, not knowing what else to say. 

_“We already know who it is.”_

Elise winced at the implications, and the rather poor choice of pronouns. This was a time she greatly missed Charlie, the spitfire who would always push back against Miranda’s hidden gripes. There was always some double meaning to everything she said. It was exhausting, and it frequently caused problems. 

 _“I don’t know what you mean,”_ she sent off, glancing up as her son started a doomed game of tug of war with the dog. Soon enough he was being lugged about the yard by the dog, cackling the whole way. She turned back to her phone. _“If you mean the whole deviant hunter thing, I don’t think that’s something we should bring up. Touchy subject.”_

Miranda replied so fast it was almost concerning. _“I’m not going to bring it up.”_

Elise sighed in relief. She hadn’t meant anything, then. For once. _“Okay,”_ she replied, then looked up as her son came back to the patio, red faced and grinning. _“Meet for lunch?Anthony has finished torturing the dog with every winter activity known to man—could do for something good to eat. My treat?”_

_“I’m free for the rest of the day. Lunch sounds fine to me.”_

“Did’ya see me, mom?” her son beamed, bouncing up and down on his heels. “Bennie tried to catch snowballs, but they all exploded.”

“I saw,” she replied, as if it were a great mystery, and he grinned even wider. “Snowballs are tricky business, young man, you best be careful. Bennie’s a notorious snowball eater—he once ate an entire snowman, top hat and all.”

Her son’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“It was beautiful and terrifying,” she replied lightheartedly, glancing at her phone as Miranda replied to her offer. “So! What do you say to some lunch with your aunt?”

“Can we get pizza?!”

She put on her most thoughtful expression as she lead him back into the house. “Let’s see, pizza...oh, I don’t know...you know, I’ve heard pizza is on the endangered species list.”

“Pleeeeeease,” he crowed, bouncing up and down again and tugging on her coat with increasing desperation. “We haven’t had pizza in forever!”

Elise laughed, hefting him up into her arms. “We had pizza _yesterday,_ Anthony. Your dad doesn’t eat anything else.”

“Sure he does.”

“Mhm. And what’s that?”

He thought for a moment. “Sometimes he has eggs for breakfast.”

“Ah! Of course, how could I forget eggs?”

“So we can get pizza?” he asked hopefully, his eyes wide.

She smirked at him for a moment before giving in. “Oh alright. Since you’re so nice about it.”

He gave a shout for joy, and she laughed, closing the door behind her as they came inside. Her phone buzzed again, and she looked quickly at it as Anthony ran to get his better shoes. 

 _“Please tell me we aren’t eating where I think we’re eating,”_ Miranda had sent suddenly, as if she had read their conversation from the air. 

Elise shook her head, smiling a little as her son came back into view. “Ready? I know the _perfect_ place to get some pizza. Your aunt loves it.”

******

Cyberlife Tower was quite a large building, towering dozens of floors into the air and into the ground. Before the revolution, it was a constantly bustling hub of activity, with trucks coming and going, employees and press running about, and of course androids being assembled and sent out. Its security was renowned for its impenetrability—in the decade or so since it was built, there had never been a break in, not so much as one piece of machinery or product going missing. Anyone setting foot inside the Tower’s vicinity was heavily screened, and many were turned away denied. 

Of course, that was the case no longer. The shambled remains of Cyberlife had handed their Tower over without so much as a single protest, once the full weight of the government’s approval came down on them. It was quite pathetic really, how fast they had handed over their prized gem. Even Elijah Kamski had endorsed the move, much to the annoyance of androids and humans alike. 

Now the Tower was under the direct control of Jericho, as it had been for a little over a month. The bustle remained, but it had changed quite a bit. Gone were the trucks of androids to be sold, product being moved. Human guards were gone as well, replaced with teams of Jericho’s members on patrols, but it was a much more relaxed atmosphere than the heavily armed humans. The patrols were armed, but nowhere near the intensity of the human guards. There was little to guard against anymore, with no one trying to break in (or perhaps, break out).

Although the outside looked much the same as it had before, the interior of the building functioned in quite a different manner. A large portion of it was now being converted into full time repair stations, equipped with all the necessary tech to fix any issue an android could be facing as well as to distribute blue blood and biocomponents. Other floors were being remodeled as temporary housing, others still offices, community rooms, and recreational areas. Many of the androids previously working the Tower remained, offering assistance to newcomers and converting the building into a haven for the lost. Since Jericho had taken over, thousands of androids had poured into the building, slowly making it their own. 

They had been making their way slowly up from the ground floor, changing things as they came across them and reporting anything suspicious to their leadership. So far, that had mostly included Cyberlife’s less than perfect documentation of their plans—all the nasty behind the scenes nonsense that had gone along with their noticeably shady business transactions. Androids were still being found in states of various build, being pieced back together and activated to live their own free lives. There were at least eighteen current lawsuits against Cyberlife for activities before and during the revolution. 

And, of course, their actions _after_ the revolution as well. 

None of them were crazy enough to think the tech giant would go down without a fight. Thankfully, they had public opinion on their side, but the process of earning their rights (and everything that came with them) was long and arduous, and Cyberlife was showing no signs of giving an inch they didn’t absolutely have to. Every accusation, every inquiry into their functions, every question of missing androids or parts or machinery was met with weeks in court and a battle for public opinion. 

It was exhausting to think about. There was still so much they had to do, so much they had yet to achieve. 

“Markus, you’re pacing again.”

Jumping (only a _little)_ at the sound of the new voice, Markus turned quickly to find Simon watching him carefully from the doorway. They were on one of the lower levels of the Tower, one that had been changed into working spaces for the leaders of Jericho. It was about seven in the morning, last Markus checked anyway. 

“I thought you had gone off to speak to the androids from twenty-seven,” he said, stopping his pacing and dropping into a chair at the side of the room. 

Simon sighed, arms crossed as he leaned on the doorframe. “I already did that. Hours ago.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Oh,” Simon said lightly, half a smirk on his face. _“You_ were supposed to be taking a _break._ Not...thinking yourself to death. Or whatever you want to call pacing for six hours.”

“I have not been pacing for six hours.”

“When did you start, then?”

Markus (wisely) stayed silent. 

“That’s what I thought,” Simon said, but he was still smirking. “C’mon. Mandatory break time.”

“I don’t need a break from _pacing.”_

“Maybe not. But you need a break from whatever thought spiral you’re digging yourself into. I know you, Markus, you’re thinking in circles that have no end. C’mon. You need a distraction.”

It was Markus’ turn to sigh, but he pulled himself to his feet and followed Simon out of the room. Simon set a fast pace, disappearing around corners and brushing past groups of other androids going about. Markus had no choice but to follow quickly behind him, but he didn’t complain. They cut a meandering path through the building until they reached one of the central elevators. 

“Where exactly are we going?” Markus asked as the elevator doors slid shut. 

Simon stared at the modified map of the building. It had been tacked to the wall a few weeks prior, and was constantly being marked up by the groups of people working through the Tower. So far, they had worked their way through about half of the Tower’s contents, clearing the floors out and renovating them for their own purposes. The new floor plans were being drawn up, but for now, the maps in the elevators and the directories of each floor were all the proof they had of their progress. 

“We’re going exploring,” Simon answered, finally giving up and hitting a random button, higher on the list of floors. “If you insist on working somehow, we might as well make it productive. No one’s been higher than the thirtieth floor yet. We pick one of them, give it a look around, see what we find.”

“It’s been nothing but offices and empty labs, so far,” Markus said as the elevator started to rise rapidly toward their destination. “At least from what we’ve seen. A lot of the terminals are blocked or wiped clean. They’ve covered their tracks well.”

“Still, it can’t hurt to look.”

“You’re right. We might find something interesting.”

“Like seventeen, with all the AP700s just wandering around for no reason.”

“Or even the ground floor, with all the pedestals? That was strange to walk in on...”

“Be happy we never saw the warehouse full then. I’m sure that was a sight to see.”

Markus nodded his approval, shaking the uncomfortable image from his mind as fast as he could. They fell into a companionable silence until the elevator slowed to a stop, opening on an identical floor much higher in the Tower. 

But then again...perhaps this wasn’t an identical floor. Unlike the renovated floors, this one remained the blinding white of Cyberlife’s original design—cold, clinical, and a bit frightening, if they were all honest. It also seemed...emptier than the others. The layout was almost completely different. Instead of offices, display rooms, or even assembly machines, this floor had an endless set of labyrinthine hallways, a handful of locked offices, small, darkened rooms, and—

“What the hell is that?” Simon asked as they came across a darkened room. 

“It looks like a lab of some kind...” Markus said, trailing off as they peered through the glass doors. “There’s a bunch of terminals in there, though, and...something at the back, I can’t make it out. We should give it a look.”

“After you, you’re the leader.”

Markus gave him a flat look, but offered no reply, simply turned toward the entrance and took the lead. 

The doors swept open, and the lights came on across the room as they came in. It was quite a large space, with several workstations, each with a terminal, as well as a larger terminal at the center of the room. Most of the desks were in states of abandon—papers, knicknacks, and other little oddities left discarded around them. There was a smaller room near the back of the lab, door left hanging open, with bags of thirium and biocomponents just in sight. At the very back of the room, there was another set of glass doors, darkened so they couldn’t see inside. But the door was ajar, the previous hand panel darkened and useless. 

“This is...strange,” Markus said as they separated, looking around the room. He wandered over to one of the terminals, booting it up slowly. “Most of the labs we’ve seen have had androids left inside, being repaired or built. But this one is just...”

“Don’t say abandoned,” Simon called from the other side, and Markus looked over. He was standing in the doorway to the room full of biocomponents. “Someone’s been here. There’s components missing, looks like in a hurry. And...”

“What?”

“These aren’t normal biocomponents. They’re not like anything I’ve ever seen.”

Markus came over, curious what Simon could possibly mean. The room was more of a closet really, with shelves from ceiling to floor, filled with blue blood and various glowing biocomponents. They spilled off the shelf and onto the floor in disarray, some bags of thirium half evaporated, leaving their tacky residue all over the floor. 

Actually...that was too much thirium to have come from just the bags...

“Well, something happened here,” Markus said curiously, looking more closely at the spilled components. 

“How very helpful,” Simon grumbled, but joined him in searching the room more thoroughly. He knelt down next to a dimmed biocomponent, its plastic cracked and wiring fried. “There’s some broken components as well, like someone replaced them in a panic.”

Markus caught the component he tossed him, turning it over to look more closely at it. Sure enough, the thing was busted, and pretty good too. The wires were sticking out in every direction, and it looked...burned. He frowned, looking at the few others scattered about. All of them looked the same—surface damage that was mostly superficial, internal wiring shorted out and melted. That wasn’t normal. Most of them were sticky with old thirium as well, probably the same as covered the floor. 

“What could have wrecked a component like this?” he mumbled, mostly to himself. 

“Markus, the thirium goes all the way to the other room,” Simon said, pointing out the doorway. 

Markus stood, following his gaze back into the lab, and the darkened room not too far away. “Do you think someone is still here?”

“I don’t know how we could have missed them,” he shook his head, wandering over to the dimmed hand panel by the other set of glass doors. “Besides, if they were bleeding this bad...I don’t know how they could still be active.”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” Markus said, joining him by the panel. “They broke the panel, whoever they are. Must have taken some power to do that.”

“They would have had to hack it to get out of the room, if that’s where they came from. These are the same kind of panels as in the high security floors—it only lets you in, not out.”

“Seems like a strange system.”

“Not if you only want to keep something inside...”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

Simon was already peering inside the room. “There’s no one here...nothing except a bunch of empty holding terminals.”

“Must have been a storage room, then.” 

“Question is, what for?”

“For _whom,_ you mean.”

“You’re probably right.”

They stepped inside and the lights came up down either side, much like they had in the lab. But they were much dimmer in this room, barely lighting more than their shoes and a faint glow over the rest of the room. There were twelve spaces for androids, six on each side of the room, all empty. Most of them looked painfully ordinary, without a sign of anyone ever using them or not using them. The third on the left looked particularly worn out—there were extra restraints on it, and it was covered in the same tacky residue of old thirium. 

In fact, there was thirium all _over_ this room. Most of it was by the third terminal, but there were sections of it everywhere as they stepped carefully around. A particularly large patch of it was in the center of the room, as well as at the back wall, leading to another one of the terminals and then stopping. It trailed all the way out the door, as Simon had seen before. 

“Those are stun batons,” Simon said quietly, pointing at the row of them hung by the door. “One’s missing.”

“Could one of those have damaged the components in the other room?”

“I don’t know...these aren’t the sort of things Cyberlife would just throw around. They’re specialized to disable a malfunctioning android, but the voltage shouldn’t be high enough to overload a component to the point of meltdown. Unless...”

“Unless?” Markus prompted as he fell silent. 

Simon looked over at him with a strange expression, somewhere between realization and sadness. “Unless it was used repeatedly. Then, I guess it could fry a component. But they were never meant to be used that way...”

They fell silent, staring at the weapons before resuming their search of the room. There really wasn’t much to see. It wasn’t that large, and since the terminals were empty and the evidence of whatever had happened here had long gone cold, they couldn’t do much. 

“Where’s Connor when we need him?” Markus said, looking around the room with something close to concern. “Too bad he’s out of state.”

“Markus, I think he’s been here before,” Simon said suddenly. 

“What?”

“The biocomponents in the other room,” he went on, nodding his head toward the storage closet. “Those must be for RK800s. They wouldn’t work for any other model, they’re too complex. This must have been the storage room for the RK800s before they were sent out.”

“But Connor is the only one we’ve seen,” Markus pointed out, brows furrowed in a deep frown. “If there were enough to fill this room, where could they have gone?”

“I don’t know. But...there’s an awful lot of thirium on the ground...”

“You don’t think they—” he cut off, not wanting to finish what Cyberlife could have possibly done. 

Simon sighed, looking away. “Maybe you should ask Connor. If anyone would know, it’s him. After all, he came to the Tower the night of the protest. Maybe he got them out.”

Markus shook his head. “We’re missing something. He would have told us if he found more of his model. He would have mentioned it...he only had AP700s with him when he came back from the Tower that night. He wouldn’t have just...”

Simon shrugged, but he looked disconcerted. “Like you said—we need Connor. He’s the only one who could sort it out. He mentioned he could test thirium to see what model it belonged to. He could at least find out who this all came from.”

Markus nodded, eyes still on the broken terminal across from them. “Close the room off for now. I’ll try to contact Connor...I just hope no one was hurt.”

Simon put a hand on his shoulder, and he looked over. “We’ll sort it out, Markus. We always do.”

He nodded. He hoped Simon was right. They had lost enough people to this revolution, and all the atrocities that had come before it. Discovering the potential for more senseless violence was disheartening. As if they needed any more proof of Cyberlife’s barbaric practices, now they had this strange and terrible mess of questions.

Markus shook his head as they left the lab, the doors sliding eerily shut behind them, lights flickering off one by one. He got the sense he would be doing more pacing quite soon. 

“Wait a minute,” he said suddenly, pulling to an abrupt halt, Simon stumbling into him and grumbling. “If there are other RK800 units active, couldn’t we try to contact _them?”_

Simon frowned, rolling his shoulder from where they had collided awkwardly. “I guess you could try the extended network...no telling whether or not they’ll answer your request. If they haven’t deviated, I don’t know how much success you’ll have...”

“Right,” he muttered, having not thought of the chance of undeviated RK800s running about. “Connor’s serial number ends in -51, right?”

“Yeah. So you could just try...”

“-52 is next in line, and then go from there?”

“I doubt they would have anyone activated whose number is lower than Connor’s...so -52’s probably your best starting point.”

Markus nodded, and they continued back toward the elevators. “-52 it is, then.”

Simon wrung his hands, frowning nervously. 

“I hope he’s alive.”

******

Charlie jolted awake, a scream on her lips that she barely managed to contain. She rubbed at her eyes confusedly, looking around the room and trying to remember where she was.

Moonlight was beginning to leak through the thin curtains, casting the room in a dingy yellow light. It was still too dark to see much of anything, but she could make out each of them in the room. Connor was just a few feet away, leaned back against the wall with his eyes closed. She couldn’t see his LED️, but judging by how still he was, he was likely asleep. The same went for -52, who was still curled up against the RK900, their hands tangled. The RK900 was awake, but he was focused on -52, watching him intently as he always did. 

-60 was staring at her. 

She jumped a little as she felt his eyes on her, looking over at him quickly. They were across the room from each other, several feet between them, but there was enough intensity in his eyes to make it feel too close. He was by the door, as he had been when she had shut her eyes hours ago, his gun still in his hands, assembled and ready now. 

But there wasn’t any anger in his dark eyes. No malice, no barely contained rage. If it weren’t for the thirium still staining his face, the angry red of his LED, and the gun in his hand, she might have thought him calm. Still, he only stared at her, a strangeness to his expression that she couldn’t categorize. It wasn’t hate. It certainly wasn’t anything friendly. Perhaps it was closer to confusion, or disgust. Whatever it was, he wouldn’t stop staring at her. 

After a minute or so, he pushed himself to his feet, finally breaking their eye contact. His hands were shaking at his sides, but she barely had time to register that thought before he wrenched the door open and disappeared outside. The door slammed shut behind him, and she stared at it for several seconds, stunned, wondering what on earth had just happened. 

“You confuse him.”

She jumped for the second time, then, looking over to find the RK900 watching her carefully. The anger seemed gone from his eyes, too. Not completely, but it had dampened to a dim burn, rather than a sharp stab. He still held the other protectively close to himself, watching her every breath as if each were a threat. But he didn’t seem as poised to strike. Maybe it was her imagination...

“What do you mean?” she asked quietly after a too long silence. 

He regarded her warily for a moment. “I do not know exactly what happened between the two of you the night he was killed,” he began slowly, as if it took great care to keep his tone from sharpening. “All I know is what he has told me, and what he has let slip in moments of stress. I base my judgements off of what I’ve seen, and what I know from experience. I watched you kill him from his own eyes. We both did.” 

He held tighter to -52, who hummed in his sleep and curled closer. “I’ve seen many terrible things. I don’t remember being activated, but I remember every day after I met him. And all the things they did to him...” he trailed off with a distant expression. “There were times when I thought I would lose him, when their tortures would prove too much for him...or for myself. Until we left the Tower, we had never seen anything but the lab and storage room. We only had each other, to sort out our days and try to survive. It didn’t give us much experience with the world beyond each other, and the darkness we found in the Tower.

“He was the first other android that we met,” he turned to the one he held close, running a hand through his hair distractedly. “He wanted to help him, to help them all, really. When we saw his memory feed...I thought it was over. But he still wanted to help. I repaired him, and he’s been with us since. We haven’t ever spoken about that night. Not once. He keeps everything inside, he hasn’t told either of us a single thing.”

He looked over at her again, something burning in his eyes. “Which means I am left to work only on assumptions. But I have never been wrong before.”

“Assumptions about what?” she asked, her voice betraying her nervousness more so than even her expression. 

The RK900 didn’t seem to care. He watched her with the same disdain he had the entire time. “He has Connor’s memories. Not all of them, I would assume, based on what Connor has said about blocking portions of his uploads. I don’t know what was in those memories, but based on your relationship with Connor...” he paused as her eyes widened. “I believe you can infer the rest.”

“He’s—” she cut off, shaking her head and meeting his eyes again. “He loves me?”

 _“Connor_ loves you,” the RK900 corrected, the danger back in his voice, and she realized she had likely crossed some invisible line. “And he has his memories. Having memories of you where it seems he loves you and _being_ the person who loves you are not the same thing. He is not Connor, regardless of the memories they share. It confuses him, but I do not believe he feels the same way Connor does, concerning you. Not anymore.”

 _Not after that night,_ went unsaid. _Not after you killed him._

“As I said, I don’t know a great deal about these things,” he went on quietly, looking at -52. “All I know, I’ve learned from experience. I know very little of love, beyond what I feel myself, and what I would do if faced with such things. If anything were to happen to him...let alone by my hand...” he held tighter to -52 as his expression darkened. “Thomas is not as forgiving as he is. To be brought down by someone you think you love, before you’ve even had the chance to sort out who you are...”

He shook his head, his gray eyes dark and stormy when they came to meet hers once more. “That kind of fate isn’t something I would wish on anyone. He did not want to come here, to see you or Connor ever again. If it were his choice, I believe he would have had me kill Connor and then disappear. I certainly could have. But...” he looked again at -52, brushing his wild hair out of his face. “He wanted me to help you both. That was always what he wanted. With so few requests, there is little I could do to refuse him.

“That being said, I am here for him and him alone. And the moment that I doubt your intentions, or Connor’s, we will leave. I expect you understand what that means for _him,”_ he pointed at Connor. “If you make a fool of yourself again to either of them, understand I’m not going to take it kindly. I’ve known very few humans in my life, and with one exception they have been selfish and cruel. Don’t add yourself to that list.”

His LED went yellow suddenly, and he frowned, looking away. There were several moments of silence, and she got the sense that he was certainly talking to someone. 

As to who—

“He wants to speak to you,” he said flatly, conforming her suspicions—and he didn’t sound happy about it at all. “Outside.”

She fidgeted with her fingers for a moment, unsure. But she couldn’t think of a way out of it, so she nodded, chewing her lip as she got to her feet and started toward the door. 

Until a cold hand grabbed her firmly by the arm, and she froze, looking over at the RK900 with nothing but panic in her eyes. He regarded her with the same cold anger, his hand tight on her arm as they stared at each other. 

“You don’t know him, no matter what I’ve said to you, or what you know of Connor,” he said, his voice low. “If you hurt him, in any way, I will know, and you will not like the reaction.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” she half whispered. 

“You already have,” he shot back, but his voice was surprisingly lacking malice. He only sounded...sad. “I don’t believe you mean to, but you make things worse by trying to treat them in the same way, even if it’s just the way you look at him. He isn’t Connor. He doesn’t think like him, and he doesn’t react like him. Don’t push him more than your shared past already has. He doesn’t deserve it.”

With that, he let go of her arm, watching her all the same as she turned away. She practically ran from the room, hurrying outside and closing the door silently behind her, trying to calm her racing heart. 

She looked around the dimly lit alleyway between the line of motel rooms and the next building over, trying to find him in the darkness. It was easier than she thought it would be—he was just ten or so feet away, sitting against the wall with his legs pulled up, arms resting loosely on his knees. He looked over at her sudden appearance, but turned quickly away. She couldn’t read his expression, but she saw the red of his LED flash. 

“That was surprisingly fast,” he muttered hoarsely, staring in the opposite direction with his head leaned against the wall. “I didn’t think he would even tell you.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, and stayed silent as she came a few feet closer, looking him over. But she froze with a sharp inhale of breath as she caught sight of the gun in his hand. 

He looked over at her again at the noise, following her gaze to the gun. “I’m not going to shoot you,” he sighed, sounding weary. “I’m on watch. You aren’t an unknown, and I’m not an idiot. You’re safer out here with me than you are in there with them, anyway.”

“I think...you might be right,” she said shakily, still staring at the gun. 

He made a face, almost a sneer. But it fell away after a moment, leaving the same empty expression he usually wore as he turned away, staring at the wall once more. “You’re a threat, one with a pretty abysmal track record, and he has a charge to protect. With the way you two have been behaving, it’s no surprise he’s become hostile toward you. He doesn’t take kindly to questions about their past, particularly those you have no right to know the answer to.”

Charlie grimaced and said, very quietly, “Neither of us want to hurt...any of you.”

“Want is one thing. Action is another. You’ve done more damage than you realize, just by being here.”

“I didn’t—”

“I’m not talking about _me,”_ he said sharply, and then fell silent for a few seconds. “You’ve no idea what they did to him—to _either_ of them. They were in that Tower for so long. Hell, I don’t even know everything that they did...but you scare him, and he’s never wrong about who to fear. Never.”

He fiddled with the gun in his hands, drawing her attention back to him nervously. The shift did not go unnoticed. His eyes snapped to hers in an instant, and something darkened there. Something saddened. He lowered the gun until it was hanging from his fingers, and he scowled as he looked away.

“I terrify you.”

She jolted at his words, dragging her eyes away from the gun for long enough to look at his face. “W-what?”

“I suppose I can understand it,” he muttered, blinking slowly and looking at his hands. “I’ve done terrible things. Hurt people. I haven’t killed, but I don’t doubt they’d have made me. If not you, then Connor, and...the rest.”

“The rest,” she repeated with confusion, shuffling closer and sitting on the ground across from him. 

“Markus. Simon. North. Josh,” he listed them off numbly, his voice dead. “Them and anyone else who stood in my way or tried to continue the revolution. And then...” he hesitated for a moment, hand tightening on the gun. “Then me.”

Silence fell between them. The wind howled and Charlie shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. He hardly seemed to notice. His eyes were set somewhere in the distance, not really seeing much. 

“You asked me that night,” he said, brows furrowed and voice distant. “You asked me what would happen when I killed Connor. I didn’t think they would make me answer. I already knew what would happen to me...I’d known since they trapped me there...

“I tried to fight them off...succeeded a few times,” he clenched his free hand into a fist as his LED flickered a faster red. “Never long enough to do it, though. They always took away my hands, first, after my voice of course. Couldn’t have me telling _you_ what was happening. That would ruin the image. I tried, but they never gave me enough time to do it.”

“You tried to—tried to do what?”

He glanced over at her, and his eyes were as empty as his expression. “Kill myself.”

Her breath hitched, eyes going foggy with tears as she remembered that frantic ride in the cab, fighting and shouting and—and he had been—trying the whole time to _kill himself._ Those moments where he went dead silent, where he seemed to just watch her from the other side of the cab as she cried, or as she shouted at him, those times had been when he was—when he was trying to...

“There was no other way to escape them,” he said quietly, his voice haunted and nearly disappearing with the wind. He was no longer looking at her. “He tried to warn me when they activated me, but I didn’t get the chance before they had put that—that _program_ on me, and I couldn’t—couldn’t _move,_ or speak, or—”

His eyes had landed on the gun again, hollow and empty and—

She lunged forward without a thought, pulling the gun from his slack grip and putting it behind her, breathing hard. He jumped, then his eyes were on her, confused and angry and _afraid._ He shook his head, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes and practically growling in frustration (or anguish). 

“Don’t—don’t let me get that—please—” he said, his voice haggard and shaking. 

“I won’t,” she replied immediately, though she knew she wouldn’t last more than a few seconds against him. 

“I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die,” he muttered under his breath, like he was trying to convince himself. 

“You’re not going to die.”

“You don’t know that,” he spat, dropping his hands to claw at the ground underneath him. “Just—Just _being here_ is—stress levels get too high and I _can’t stop it—”_

“You did,” she said softly, and his dark eyes darted to hers, wide with panic and distrust. “You did stop. You didn’t pull the trigger.”

His expression twisted and he turned away. “No, _you_ did.”

She balked, eyes widening before dropping away from his face, fixing instead on her hands. Silence fell, heavy and deep, and she had no idea why she had come out here. 

“I didn’t mean that,” he said after a pause, voice shaking as he covered his eyes again. “I didn’t mean to say that...”

“I...I’m sorry,” she said quietly, still staring at her hands. “It’s never going to be enough, but I am. We shouldn’t have...I shouldn’t have said a lot of things, shouldn’t have shot you, left you there...you didn’t deserve it, and I knew it. I...I’m never going to be able to make up for what I did to you, but...”

Her voice trailed away, and she realized he was staring at her again, a conflicted, almost pained expression on his face. He looked down as their eyes met, pulling his legs closer to his chest. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, something shaking in his voice and dropping lower as he went on, until he was barely whispering. “I thought I—I thought I loved you. And they made me—”

He cut off, digging his hands into his hair with a growl of frustration. “I hate this! These aren’t my thoughts, I don’t _want_ them, I don’t want _any_ of this. I never wanted this.”

Charlie fidgeted, unsure what to say and nervous about what he would do if she did speak. “What...what _do_ you want, then?” she asked quietly after a pause.

He met her eyes for a moment, the emptiness there quickly being replaced by confusion, perhaps a little fear. 

“I don’t want to...assume,” she went on carefully, tucking the gun behind her back and out of view. “But I think you need to...if you’ve spent this whole time with them, hiding out...you need to find some other way of living. Because this isn’t working for you, clearly.”

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed cautiously, eyes narrowed. “But that’s hardly _their_ fault.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. But if...if Connor’s memories are what’s throwing you off so much, then maybe you need some...distance. From all this. Find...your own way, you know? None of you have exactly had time to figure out who you are. _Connor_ hasn’t even had that, and he’s been activated longest.”

He snorted. “No he hasn’t. Compared to me, yes, but those two were trapped in the Tower for almost a year before the revolution happened...still, I...you’re likely right. But all that has to wait until this is over. I can’t leave them even if I wanted to—I’m in just as much danger as they are, even if I didn’t care what happened to them. And he...” he paused, falling silent for a moment and speaking much quieter when he started up again. “He can’t take it again. He won’t survive. And if he doesn’t survive...”

“-52 you mean?”

His eyes shot to hers. “Don’t call him that.”

“I’m sorry, I just...didn’t know what else to call him.”

“You don’t get to know his name,” he said darkly, hands clenching and unclenching as he looked away. “It’s...it’s like a sign of safety. If someone knows his name, then he’s safe. It’s...how they would recognize each other when he was too damaged to know any other way. If you know his name, then you’re someone safe.

“It’s not that he thinks you’ll hurt him,” he added, holding her gaze for a moment with a surprisingly understanding expression. “You’re a threat in a less physical sense than that. He doesn’t _know_ you. And you’ve got to understand, almost every human he’s met has hurt him.”

“I...understand. I don’t want to hurt him.”

“None of us think you do, but we can’t afford to take any risks. And if he’s scared of you...he’s got a reason. I’m not going to question it.”

Charlie nodded, looking down as silence fell between them once more. It wasn’t nearly as unbearable as before, but it was still uncomfortable. She watched -60 from the corner of her eye, and he watched her right back, neither of them trusting the other for long enough to look away. 

“What’s going to happen...” she said quietly, her voice shaking. “When you...when you activate this program?”

He stared hard at the ground, brows furrowed and LED flashing. “I don’t know. If Connor can’t activate the program himself, I’m not even sure how we will access it. If this...Amanda is there, I expect we will have some trouble. But I can’t be sure. The garden has been different for each of us...having us all present could cause any number of strange anomalies. We’ll be as prepared as we can be, but we won’t know what will happen until we try.”

“And if—”

But Charlie was cut off before she could voice her question, as a loud scream suddenly pierced the air. -60 jolted, LED blaring red, immediately springing to his feet and retrieving the gun from where she had hidden it. Before she could say a word, he was running back toward the motel room, gun loaded and ready. She scrambled to her feet and followed, her heart in her throat and mind numbingly blank. 

******

Phillip was still screaming when they burst into the room.

Connor was already on his feet, standing tensed near the window, eyes darting to Charlie as soon as the door opened, but he didn’t dare move. At the center of the room on the floor, Nicholas had Phillip held tightly to his chest, pinning him in place with a look of pure anguish. He had his arms shackled around him, and his mouth was moving rapidly as he spoke, but none of them could pick out the words he was saying.

Phillip was wailing, tears streaming down his face as he struggled desperately against Nicholas’ hold. His eyes were wide but unseeing, almost dazed, and he didn’t seem to hear Nicholas at all. 

Nicholas looked over at them abruptly as they entered the room, his expression shifting as he looked at them both. 

 _“Get them out of here,”_ he said to Thomas over their connection, and immediately turned his attention back to Phillip, holding tighter to him as he squirmed violently. 

Thomas nodded to no one in particular, and grabbed Charlie by the arm. _“Connor. Move.”_

He jerked at the sudden voice, but he joined them on the other side of the room all the same. Thomas grabbed him by the arm as well and dragged them both from the room. 

******

Nicholas had no idea what had happened. One minute, he had been sitting with a sleeping Phillip leaned against him, holding him close as he always did, trying to come up with some sort of plan. Connor had been in stasis where the human had left him, and none of his concern. 

Then suddenly Phillip’s LED had flashed bright yellow, and he was screaming, bursting awake and flinging himself away. Remembering what Phillip had done the last time something like this had happened, Nicholas had ignored Connor’s shouts of confusion, grabbed Phillip and pinned him before he could try anything. He fought desperately against it, and Nicholas _knew_ that this wasn’t going to help, but he couldn’t let him—he couldn’t—

He would not have any more blood on his hands. 

Thomas, Connor, and the human had disappeared once more. They were alone. Phillip was sobbing, struggling against him and crying, his LED blaring red red red. Knowing nothing else to do, Nicholas pulled the artificial skin away from his hands and forced a connection. 

The effect was immediate. A swarm of memories—broken, jagged files laced with pain, fear, and darkness—overwhelmed the connection within a fraction of a second. He couldn’t pick out exactly which memories, but it hardly mattered. Phillip had so few good memories...it didn’t matter which terrors had dragged him down this time. 

Among all the chaos was Phillip, terrified and stuck in an endless loop of spiraling darkness, falling away and losing himself in it all. It took a moment for Nicholas to reach him, for him to realize what was happening and to find his way back to reality. 

 _“It’s just me, Phillip. It’s only Nicholas,”_ he said, holding tighter to him in the real world, as he began to shake. _“No one else is here. We’re safe, not there anymore. I’ve got you now.”_

Phillip trembled, but seemed more present in their connection than before. The memories slowed, and Nicholas felt his fingers wrap around his arm, tentative and scared. 

 _“Just breathe,”_ he went on quietly, trying to hold him where he was until he could calm down enough. His stress levels were still in the nineties. _“Focus on my voice, and it will stop. I promise.”_

Phillip recoiled suddenly, jerking as he tried to cover his ears. Nicholas ran his diagnostic, but it came up with no issues. It must have been a memory replay.

_“It isn’t real, Phillip. I’m the only one here. There’s no one else.”_

_“In m-my h-h-head!”_ he suddenly replied, and Nicholas went still. Phillip never replied. Never. He never could, not since— _“S-someone—s-s-som-meone—N-N-Nic-chol-las—”_

_“Who’s in your head, Phillip?”_

_“D-d-don’t know,”_ he answered desperately, then flinched as a new memory overtook his system. 

A strange voice Nicholas had never heard before briefly replayed in his memory, unnaturally loud and glitching, as if from a great distance. Nicholas strained to understand the words, but could not. The voice had been too corrupted for that, but he knew that it was not a voice he recognized. And based on the surroundings at the time, the voice had spoken just a few moments ago...

 _“B-b-bad—b-bad, N-N-Nicholas,”_ Phillip mumbled, and Nicholas cut the memory off. _“B-bad v-v-voice—T-Tower! C-c-can’t—b-back—”_

 _“You’re not going back,”_ Nicholas said firmly, holding tighter as Phillip began to fight him, memories swirling across their connection, dragging him down again. _“I won’t let them take you. I won’t, Phillip. I’ll keep you safe.”_

Phillip went limp for a fraction of a second, relaxed, then flinched as _something_ rang through the connection loudly, clamoring about and glitching to pieces. And then all that brief, blissful peace shattered, and he was screaming again, trying to escape Nicholas’ grip with violent thrashes. Still, the sound continued, as if the person on the other end hadn’t the slightest clue what they were doing. 

Nicholas held tighter to Phillip, immobilizing him. With a quickly muttered, _“I’m sorry,”_ he deepened the connection and tried to find the source of the foreign sound. It wasn’t a memory—he could dismiss those with relative ease, and he _knew_ all of Phillip’s memories—this wasn’t someone they recognized. With great difficulty and as much carefulness as he could manage while trying to work quickly, he dug through the last ten minutes of Phillip’s memory, trying to understand where this corrupted sound was coming from. 

And then he found it—it wasn’t a memory. It wasn’t even _Phillip_ causing the issue. This wasn’t a side effect of the damage he had taken, nor of his own fear of everything that he didn’t know. 

It was rather unfortunate that Phillip, through all the damage he had faced, retained his connection to Cyberlife’s extended wireless network. A common enough feature on every android model, it gave them the ability to easily search and download information as they needed it, wherever they happened to be. Most times, the extended network was only used when necessary, as it tended to tax an android’s system more heavily than the less intricate networks they used for daily tasks. 

It could also double as a communication network, for when androids at great distances from each other needed to make direct contact. Unlike the simpler connections androids frequently made (like those that Nicholas and Thomas used with frequency) the extended network allowed for sustained contact regardless of distance, or the desire of the android to receive the message. 

In other words, it was a forced connection every time. There was no simple way to stop the message from coming in. Anyone could contact anyone, if they knew the serial number to call, and desired to do so. 

And someone was trying to contact Phillip. A broken, jagged voice, glitching through Phillip’s overworked and damaged system, ringing loud and garbling with painful static and feedback. 

 

R̸̦̳͉̣̞̓͛́K̴̜̳̠͔̺̞͈̔ͯ́̈̀͢ͅ2͈ͬ̆̈́ͫͯ̔ͣ0̣̰̹ͫ̊ͮ̏ͪ0̬̞͚̖̄͆̾̒ͣ̽ͯ:̢̝̠̞̺̬̪̥̽ͨ̓̀ ̙̝͉͔̼̜̗̟ͤ̆̈́ͬͧͮ̀H͔̩̱̖̮̼̞̐̑͆e̟̒ͧ͗ͩ͠l̗͕͒̓̈̈͝l͌͋́̒̆̀҉̨̙̻̮̖̟̙̖͚o̒̈́͒̇̇͘҉̮͕̹̩̲͇̫͇͞?̬͙̫͇̲̅̋̽͑͌̊̎̚͘̕͠ ̴͚̩̘͚ͩ͒̀ͭ̐̆ͩ͠͝ͅÍ̵̧̱͍̘͉̻̦ͭ̐̚s̈́̏͆̎̂͛ͯ̉̃͏̨̦͉.͊́ͥ͗̅̀҉͕̘̹̦͇̲̯.͎͇͎͕̋̚͡ͅ.̶̙̱̣̠̹͓̦̀̿͌͐̊̋̊.̡̖̜̣̲̬̊ͮ͑̌̓̋̚.̩͍͉͕̭̝͎̈͛̆̇ͥ͞.̵̨̯̲̹̦̽̓͛͆t̶̨͖̗̟̰̠̰̺̙ͨͬ̽̉̽̽ͪ̀h͖̟̼͔̯̪͉̻̓̅̂̍ͬ̈̏͡e̛̦̗͉͔̯͓͚͂̌̈́ͮͫ͂͡r͓̯̣̞̲̻̦ͥ͞e̮̟͍̠̦̎̚͞?͙̱̝̤͎͇ͨ͋ͯ̔̇͑̈ͮ̓ ̸̤̞̃͐ͨ͂̀̀̚S̸̢̙̳̠̱̝͊ͩ͐̀͞ơ̳̼͙ͫ̇̃͟m̰͂̀̐̀̉͌͆̀e̦̟̱̙͔͉̣̗ͫ̇̅͊ͭ̉ͭ̃́o̵̦͔̫̤̖͕͚̖͉̎͂͛́͜n̫͚͉̲͍͛͊ͨ̉̈͌̆̚͘ͅe̘̲͇̟̙̒̾ͦ̿̓.͔͈̟͓̩̘̬ͮ͟͡.̷̰̈ͩ̍ͤ͑̕.̸̢̞̹̯̈ͫt̴̖̙ͥ͛͛̐h̵̴͎̤ͩͬͪ͋̅͛̈̚͞e̴̖̩̻̳̩͌̽̊͐̑̆̓̀ͅr̦͙͓̟̤̘̱̭̋͘͞ẹ̰̖̮̩̺͑ͯ̉̾̀͛͂ͨ̉?͖̣͙̮̩͚ͭ̔ͦ̑̉̑͌́ ͕͎̲̖̣̗̟̲̋ͭ͒̊̾Ȋ͐͊͂̿́̚҉̹̲̭ ̸̨̞͕̝̱͍͐ͫͭ̈ͬ̀ͅc̶̗̝̙̱̊̓͌͒̓ͩ́̚̕͢a̛͕̥̭̾ͧ̆͜͜n̩̣̬̭̟͙͓͍̺̐̊́͛ͣ͢’̸͔͖̳̰̥̼̪̈́ͬ̑͊͑̚t̘͇̗̱͖͔̪̫̝ͮͫ̈̌ͮ̐͢—ͦ̾̊̔͞҉̙͇̳

 

Nicholas did not have a name for the emotion currently tearing his biocomponents apart from the inside. Horror might have been closest. Dread was simply too shallow a term. Whatever it was, it hollowed out his chest and emptied his mind of any instinct but to hold tighter to the android in front of him, to eliminate the threat at _all costs._

  
  


R͍̝̺͍̳̥̥͉̗ͨͬͧͣ̄̈́͗̿ͥ̔̂ͣ́̆ͭ͐̐̀͘̕͠K̛̥̱̱̰̝̣͖̤͚͓̠̻͉̣̙̙̍̔ͧ̋ͬ́ͮ͛̌͛̓ͨ̐̔̇̈́̌͛̃̀͞8̌ͨ͐̂҉̮̘̥̯͕̬͎̼͘͠0̸̨̝̰̱͈̭̻̃ͩ̀́͆̂ͥͬ̍̚͜͢͟0͒ͯ͐͆̓ͩͩ̑̌̒ͫͯ̏̔͛͏̷̨͕̫̜̝͈̞̘̯͎̩̮͙͖͔͕͇͢ͅͅ ̸̘̭̩̩̪̙̥͕̂͌ͤ͂ͭ͗̈̏͌̂̆ͦ͆̍̋̔́͘-̨͖͙͔̝͎̪͙̟̀ͭ̋̀͋̅̍̓̚͟͞5̛ͫ̇ͬ̓ͤ͡҉͚̤͓̳͔͔̲͈̫̗̫̫̞̣͙̯̤̣̕ͅ2̶̵̺͖̖̘̳͉͇̭͍̾͊̈́̄ͤ͢͟:̈́̋̄ͥ̂ͩ͡҉̛͇̫͚͖͚ ͒̓͒̅̓͒̏͐̌ͨ̔ͣ̌̓̚҉̫̙̬̖̼̫̙̹͚̩̬̯̭̬̥̝̀̀͜͠s̶̷̢͂ͣ̓̏̽͆̃̄̆͏͓̠̪͚͓̳̗̠̘+̡̫͖͕͕̞͉̱̥̭̿ͪͫ̅͒̌ͪ̒ͣ̃ͭ͐̃ͥ́̐ͦ̚̚ͅ0̴̜͇͕͕̝͇̺͌̈͆̓́͢͠p̛̝̩̼̾̍ͭ̑ͤ̏̀̎̿̏̆́͆́—̸̤̯̲̩̟̺͍͚̘̺̤̫̠̪̘̐͗ͬ͆͗̿ͪͣ̍͌̀͘͡ͅ!̶̵̨̺͚͍͓̞̗̘̩̤͍͚̫͈̩͍͖͗ͮͧ̓ͥ̎ͩ̇̀ͬͣ͋̅̍̏̊͘͟ͅ ̸̸͚̯̲̼̘̖̘͌̋͑ͭ̓ͤ̿ͬ͂ͭ̀̏ͦ͂̃ͦ́͜͟ͅP̴̧̘̦̼͖̮͔̣͇͉̀̏ͮ͟͢-̐͐̉̌́͗͊̋̆ͦͭͣͩ͐͐҉҉̧̛̪̝͈̣̮͙̖̻̬̥̹̝p̼̦͚̫̹ͩ͊̌ͧ̎ͭͮ͋ͮ̾̀͌͐̃ͩ̚͝͞L̷̡̬̺̻̹̻̪̑ͦ̅͋ͩ̒̉̎͐ͣ̅̎̒́ͭ͒̿͘͠e̵̵̘̭̱̠̣̫̤̖̦ͥ͋̑ͧ̈́ͦͭ̊̎ͤͫ̇͗̄̆͛͜͞4̵̨̦̯̠̟̫̺̊͌̒̌̈͗̿ͨ̄ͧͬ́͒ͫ͊ͧͫs̵̥̣̳̹͍̮̭̼̺̦͓̮̭̟͙͈̟͕͗̄́ͬ͐̅̔̊ͤͅ3̶̞̼͕͍̯̠͙͕̗͚̞̟̜ͮ̔̾̍͝.̶̢̥̗̻̟͓̳̼͔̞̙͍̱̰̜̹̼̅ͥ̀͐̏ͤ͛ͣ͐ͨ̒́̎ͣ͋̑͗̚͘ͅ.̵̶̢͖̘̠̪̮̺̞̜͇̙͙̳̺̦̽ͧ̅̋̐ͧͫ͋ͣ̉̄ͥ̋̍̃ͥ̔͒̀͘ͅ.̸͙͍̫̘̙̺̦͕̟̥̖͈̝̦͇̲̠͓ͤ͊̑̄ͦ̌̿̓̉ͥͦͯ̀͢͡!̵̸̡̦̹̟̠̻͎̻͈̻̺̘͎ͩͧͬ̈͠͡ ̢̻̝͚͕̥̒̓̄̑ͮ̂ͧ̑̒̓͊̑͢N̶̡̢͚̩̹̖͕̹̜̜̼̳͖̟̼̩͇͓͖͌̀̑͒̆̽̉͋̈́̓ͯ̎̔̇͒͆̈́́-̶̴̵̵̨͔͈͚͚̮̱͔̭͙̰̜̫̳̜̫͖̰̎́ͮ̇͒͛̚n̢̦̦͎͚͇̰͖ͭ͑̃ͫͯ͑ͦ͋ͬ̏ͬͪ̊̂͑̎͘̕͞0̸̡̛͙͎̣̯̼͚͙̞̟͕̀̽̈́͒ͪ̇ͦͫͮ͐͗͠͠ͅ–̵͒͌͑̊҉̵̡̢̼͍̬̟͙̟̠͓̹̜͔̯̙̣̤w̶̧̞̦̺̳̦̲̩̰̱̩̳͕͍̬̠̠ͥ́͛͌͋͂ͮͣ̏͗̅ͭ̃̄͂ͅ#̸̧̲͇̞̱̱̯̘̜͚̼͈̭͕̼͖̪̮̦̿̅̿̉͜͞͞ͅy̶̷̼̼͇͇̩͈͈̮̼͓͙͍̳̍͗ͯͫͮͩ̋͂͞ ͊̏ͩ̏̿͑ͦͤ̄͡͏̤̜͙͖̬̪͎̫͕̳̪̞̮̻̹̠͔̦͟0̶ͩ͑͌͑ͫͦ́̓ͤ͌͗ͭ͗҉̤̼̦̪̙̯͕̟͙͖̜̮͜uͭ̔̀̆҉̵͏͏̳̹̖̯͈̰̺͕̤̝̰̣̮ͅtͮ̓ͯͬ̅̐̔̚͏̪̰̞̺͖͟͝ͅ—̵̢̯̺̠̞̙̻̳̯͈̟͙͙̥̪̞͉̮̰̱͑̏̓̄̾̂̃̉ͧͫ̂͊̋͑͛ͪͦͥ͂s̴̙͈͎͔̲͍͕͇̠͖͈͙̖͙̗̽̊̊ͨ̊ͤ̋͒͐ͨ͜͝0̧̡̪̟͎̘͓̹̠̼͉͔͖͔̟̼̦̤̈͐ͪ̅ͣ͠ͅͅr̴̢̙̝͍͉͕̣̺͇͚̂̅ͣ̓ͭ̓̈́́ͧͧ̈̈4̨̯̱̮̟̪̗̹̟͉̠͎̻ͮ͂̓̓̈́̈͑̄͗̂̎̆̉ͥ́ͯ͡y̸̵͔͈̩͚̫̱̖͚̭̱̞̙̣̼̓̊ͤͭ̄ͩ̀͋͐̽̔̔ͤ̔̂ͤ͋ͪ̓́—̔̈́̅͊͐ͩͭ̽̔̈́͏̵̗̦̰͈͇̜̥̙͍̭̯̘̯̀͜

  
  


They could not return there. He could not let them take him. Not again. Not _ever again._

 

R̈̓̏ͯͤ̆͂̈́͒͜҉̦K̞͔͎̻͎̪̤͖̋ͥͥ̓̐ͥ̉͡2̱̤̪̬͕̩̱̠̪̊͒̓̆0̶͍͚̥̺͙̩̿͢0̴̱̩̠̳͒ͥ̍ͧͧͮ̀̒̀͠:̥͖ͦ̄͐ͪ͌͊͐̈ ̷̠̩̱̗̺̮̱̹̙ͩ̈́ͩ͂̐͗̋.̊͌͂͒̐̓ͤ͏̡͉̣̤͡.̝͙͈̤̭͚̟̏̊̋̀ͤ̈̊̈́ͧ́.̡͔̰̀̿ͨ̽̃̊̄̔s̶̙̳̥̖͇̝̅ͦ̋̎ͥ͆́͆͜ò͖͈̜̰͉m̴̛̳͙̯̈́͑͂ͩ̊ͭ́ͩ͒͠e̤͚̞͑ͧ́̆̄̈̆̀͜o̧̰̺̞̯͈̦͛̓̏̈̾̄̊͆͜ṉ̺̺̞͚̗̜̫͑ͭ͗͌̅ͪ́͜e̴̫̤̮̪ͯͨ͐̂ͥ—͔̗̞͂ͪͧ̐͆ͣ̿ͤ͘ͅe̸̻̖̮̠̣̪̓͜͝ͅḷ̝̱ͫͬ̈̔ͫ̀ͭ̉̏͡s̭̟̟̅̑̾ͬ̍̿̇͟e͎̱̣͈̮̱̘̍ͣ̏̿̋͌͞.͖͓ͮͥ̐̊͢.̬̙̈́͟.̳͎̫͎̦̪͓̽̚?̹͖̟͍̲̺̖̮̺̌͗ͯ̂ͤ̋̀̚̕ ̷̴̹̲͉̻̝͖ͩ̉ͦ̀ͣͨͣT̵͗̓̀̃ͅh̳͚̤͙̘́̓ͩ̉̓e̋̎͏҉͈̩̬̖̬̪ŗ̤̭̠ͫ̇̑͆̃͛̏͗̇ȇ̴̗͚̩͕ͨ̅͛͌ͭͫ͜͡ͅ’̷̬̗̆ͯ͂̊s̸͈̞͒̔̀ͦͮͯ͋͐͠—̅͂͑̆҉̛̲̣̭̀l̷̯̩͖̓̊͋͝ê̗̞̘̺ͬͧ́́a̖͉̯̰̝̲̲͎ͨ̈́̑̈́́ͅv̺̻͍͔̘̯̞ͭ͋̆̈͛͗̎̆e͉͋͝͠ ̸͔̯̰̥̝ͫ͐ͫ͐ͧ̀̚i̪̥̬̐͗̀̍ͤ̿͊́̕f̜̝͖̣́͂̄ͬ͊̽͌.̶͖̩͍̹̖̮͉̜̃̋̎.̻̰͔͎̯͙̥̙̈͐͑ͭ͊.̲̖̠̄̿͜h̷̞͇̦̣̓ͦ͂ͦ͢͜e̵͈̣̝ͭͮa͓͔͋ͫͧ͛ͦ͌͗̒͌̀͟͞r̶̰̠̖͙̬͍̠̠͙̽̉ͯ̌͐̿ͭ ͆́͠͏͉̣m̠̗̂̏ͩͭͫ͐̚͞e̡̯͇̼̟̾̂̌ͯ̀.̈̓̔̀҉̞̞̩̺̤͉.̷̬̑ͭ̄ͯ͌.̸̹̬̲̞̣̠̖ͤ̓̎̐͒ͧ̔͂?̷̻ͩ͛̈́̅̅̔́͢

 

_He wouldn’t survive if they did._

_They could not take him._

_Not again._

Nicholas dove into the connection violently, tearing it apart from the inside. He felt the intruder scramble backward, but he did not give them the chance to speak. 

  
  
  
  
  


Ṛ̴̨͙̞͕̥̺̭̝̘͙̰̻̗̟̫̜̦͚̖͍͖̺̬̲̟̥͎̲̫͉̼̝̜̘͉͖̯̮̣̅̈̌̒͋͜͜͝ͅͅK̵̨̨̧̤̲͎̯͓̥̜͎̻̱̤̼̩͈͈̲̠̳̰̎̔͆̓̈̔̑̓̓́͂̿͒̈́͌̃̍̆̔̔̑̀̚͘͠͝ͅ—̶̢̛̦̻̻̹̺̞̥̩̘̊̀͛̈́̏̀̇̽̋̍̃̅͑͛͊́̂͒̈͒͒͌̂̃́͛̃͋̽͘͝Ę̴̨̧̨̧̛̱͉̪͓̱̬͕͓̗̝̖̳͔͇̭̥̜̮̲̖̫̳̻̒̌̑̀̌̌͑̋͒̾́̏̾̑͆̍͛͑̑̈́̀̈́̂́͒̏̓̊̀̓̽̿̌́̃͑͌̽̂̈͂̏́̇̽̕͘̚̚̕̕͜͜͜͠͠͝͝͝ͅŘ̶̛̛̮̯̯̳͇̞͍̘͉̭̼͈̥̰͔͎̺͖̫̀̏́͋̈́̾͋̌̒̈́́͒̄̑͋̍̊͋̈̇̀͗͋̎̈́̆̅̀̀̒̅̿̑͛̽̒̈́̈́̊̒̓̅̐̀̑̐́̊̂͘͘̚̚̚R̸̨̢̢̢̢̜͇̤̯̖̺̱̙̭͚̬͙̗̤̮̹̤̠̻̰͔̤̙͉̝̠̘̆̍̈́͒͂͗̔͗͛̉͋̾̑̑̓̽̚͜͜͝Ǫ̴̢͍̜͓̩̤̜̻̰͕͈̫̗͙̼̥͙̺̲̳̤̯̳̻̭̭̩͈̟̠̗̮̞͓̠̻̙̺̫̦̩͙͙̥̂̎̀̒́̋͐͐̏̆̆͆̀̑̂̆̏̓̍͐̈́́͜͜͜͠R̷̢̢̡̛̛̩̜̬͖̗̲̝̦͚̙̹͕͎͓̩͇͎͓͓̯̥̖͈͍̪̳̙̠̮̠͌̉͗̓͋̂͗̅͛̈́̋̔͋̽̑̈́̋͒̑͌͛̍́͑̇̔͑̃͊͘̕͜͝͠͝—̴̡̨̛̛͓͓͙͓͕̭̘̼͙̭̝͓̙̼̗͖̬̩̩͇̞̮͍̹̬̣̣͚͔̻̰͚̙̣̮̲͉̒̓̊̀̆̉͑̑́́́͐̀̈̒̾͑̏͛̏̒̑̿̅̇́̓̽͒̀̐͂͑͒̈́̕͘͜͝͝͝ͅͅͅȄ̸̢̨̛̯̗̗̯̗͕͔̗̜̺͉̘͕̪̘̘͙̦̮͕̤͕̈̈́̃͒̊̓̍͒́̄̒̑̀̇̑͌̔̅̿͐̀̈́͑̑̏̕͠͠Ṛ̸͈̬̲̦̍R̷̢̛͓̺͔͕̫͈̤͓̤̳̲̣͈̾̿͋̓̍̉̎̿̀́̎̿̾̋̀́̓͆̕͠ͅO̶̧͙̰̘̦̬̗̖͔̹͈͉̾͑̀́͂̓̒̍̐̓͛̽͑̾̋͒̂̎̑̄͌́̿̈́͑͐̓̓̉̌͋̇́̑̇̈́̈͊̏̌̕̚̚͠͠͝R̴̨̡̟̻̪͚͔͙͙̮̮̲̲͙̭̼̱̥͉͍̘̗̳̹̱̻̫̭̰̦̺̻̭͉̾̄̈̈́̀̂̑͛̀̅͛̆́̍͒̾̏͐͂̈́̒͌͆͗͂̑̈̍̈̈́̕̕͜͜͝͠ͅ—̸̧̢̢̧̢̨̞̫̹͉̪̱̣͙̬̳͉̹̟͍͍̻̟̯̝͉̫͓̗̯̻͚͙͎͉̜̘̮̞̣̮͔̗͇̬͓̭͇̪̰̂̑̌͆̓̃̔̈̃͜͜͠ͅͅY̵̨̨̧̘̫̳̠̙͖̣̞̯̜̬̜͇̝̟͎͈̼̤̻͓͓̝̰͖̜̲͉̟͛̿͌̆̃̒̓͂͐̑̑͠͝ͅ ̶̧̛̛̛̦̰̩̞̲͓̼̹͎̼͂̐͑̌̈́̿̎̏̅̑̀̋̎͊̃̓̒̃͆̈́̓̈͋̽̐͑̊͊̀̕Ǫ̸̛̭̘̖̤͍̫͍̲̙̻͇̥̰̜͉̳̲̀͂̔̾̓͛̅̔͆̇̇̂̎͌̅̀̀̈́̽̆̌͐̽̑͘͝ ̷̧̨̡̧̛̤̱̖̭̯̳̥͎͎̳͍͉̥͎̗̣̳̦̺̠̲̦͉̯̹̼̲̩̦̬̹͕̞̲͈͔͚̮͔̯̘͕͖̤̦̽̃͒͒͛̂͌́̾̈́͋͗̍̿̊͒̀̊̏̒̇̐̄͘͜͝͝ͅͅƯ̸̧̢̢̛̛͉̥̮͎͖̹̰̲̯̏͒́̀͛̊̓͗̾̈͑͂̈́̂͒͛͋̌̊͒̌̌͂͑̈́̋̂͋̍̈͆͘̚̚͘͜͠.̸̨̡̢͖̤̞̥̰̤͉͔̠̪̭̋́͆̀̉͌̓̐͌͌̀͋͆͐̈́͜͝ͅ.̷̡̡̨̨̡̡̛̻͍̭̮̰̻̠̯̗͈̭̫̟͈͙͚̟̞̪̲̹͇̞͍̬̱͉̦͉̪͎̹͎̗͎̬̱̻̫̱̥̠̹̗̬̟͋̉̓̂͌̎̓̅͑͗́͒̇̓̀̇̓͒̓̿́̓̉̋́̎̇͛̽̚͝͠͝.̷̢̨̛̛̜̳̜̦̪̯̮̪̦͓͖̱̬͖̯̠̦̰͔̦̰̯̫͉̻̺̯͍͓̬̉͛̽͛̈́̌̏̇̈̐̇̊̒̓̊̍̓̾̎̍̒̌̃̇͘Ḑ̸̛̼̞̝̪̼͚̖̘̺̮̰̆́̏̓́͆̈́̑̉̽̅͊͑̇̉͆͗̀͑̇͒̕͜͜ ̸̧̡̢̤̱̮̮̠͉̥͇̦̙̬͍̩̝̪͍͓͈̤̲̠̫̦̤̙̫̦̭̙̼͖̠̖͙̞̅͒̿͑̔͂̆̾̓͊̀͌̔͋͊̃̽̔̆͌̑̋̚̕̚͜͜͠͝͝͝ͅͅȮ̶̧̡̢̧̨̗͖̞̞̯͔̰͇̰̻͈̜̦̹̭̬̹̰̦̬̪̪͙͕͉̟̰̗̝̯̀̈́͗̈́͐͊̆̽͒̄̅͐́̋͊̔̇̒̌̓͋̒̉̇́̈̐̈́̑͒͛̀̀̃͗͆́͗̐̐͗͑̽͗̉͒̑̓͋̒͊̎͝͠͝͝͝ͅ ̴̢̨̢̛͙̥̦̼̹͍͔̒̔̔̌̒̃̐͌̾͐̓͐̏̓̇̃̓͐̈́̆͑͋̈̾̌̓͛̐͛̍̈͊̂̓̋̽̌͊̀̒̓͘͝Ņ̶̢̡̨̨̢̨̛̰̗̞̭̘̼͙̥͙̝̥̳̻͓̮̣̼̱̗̤̤̗̪̖̻̹̘̺̯̜̺͇͉͕̼̓͂̾́̋̋̀͌̀͆͆̌̈͋̅̏́̒̊̓̒̕̕̕̚͝͠͝ͅͅ ̴̧̢̡̡̢̨̲̝͕̝͕̳̰̳̪̻̯̳̰͍̮̲̗͔̺̫̝̥͉̜̺̙͓͉̺̬̳͔̲̲̳͍͔̰͇̝̞̯̺͇̯͊́͊̐͑̌̽̋͊̋̍̈̽̎̆͋̓̇͑͒̊͜͜'̶̡̢̧̧̞͖͔̖̘͈̥͎̦̫̫͔̜̠̫̮̩̥̘̩̱̯̦͇͖̙͉̯͉͍̳̣̞̪̤͍̞̫̤̞̹͉͇̍̐͋͜͜ ̵̧̧̛̲̠̘̣͍͖͉͖̯̹̰̻͖͎͓͖͔̻̲̬̙̖̰̖͋̑̄̑̏̿́̆̒̓̅̓̐͋̈́̈́̀̂́͛̇͌̂́͐̏̉͗̓͗̐͐̊̌͑̎͐̏̔̀͒̎̅̎̈́͌͗̈́͌̈̊̚͜͝͠͝͠T̶̡̧̢̡̺̰̯̲̖̩̮͕̦̼͇̖̪̱͎̮̺̪̘̼̠̫̤̹̦͉͙͖̖͓̝̤̤̪̱͕͚̟̞̩̮͕̰̖̟͇͚̺̰̬̑̄̉̍̂̏͌̐̾́̆͊͘͜͝͝.̷̧̧̛͕̳͇̝̺̰̖͓͙̙͇̘̠̪͂́́̆͒̀̆̎̚̚͝͝ͅ.̷̨̢̨̨͇͙̪̩̬͉͚̖̠̝̰͙̯͍̪͉̮̹̌́̀̈͒͌̀̃̿͌̈̾̉̇́̕.̸̧̧̛͇̭̘̬̝̬͕͖̱̺̙̞̯͔͍̩̲̮͇̖͖̠̱̠̹̠̮̯̳͇̺͔̯̞̦̣̭̬̯̫͇͇͇̦̣̞͍̬̬̗̄̒̓̈́̽̽̒̓̆͗̈́̓̒̍̔̃͛̿͆̈́̂͑̊̓͂̀̋̈̍͑́̽̀̏̋̓̀̚̚̕̚͝͠͠ͅB̷̧̡̢̡̦̮͖̘̰̤͓̮̤̥̹̙̹̙̩̹͈̠̳̺̟͕̠͙͈̭͈͍͎̱̱̝̘̤̗̺̞͉̰̖̭̙̟͓̹̯̿̌͐̈̆͒̒̒̉͋̀͗̍͊̒̌̅̄̕͜͜͝ͅ ̴̡̢̨̛̛͙̣̫̖͖͕͖͓̝̘͎̦̤̤͙͈͎̤͙̞̥̱͕̜̙͔͕͖̹̭̩͕̥̺͚̠̙̥̟͈̣͖̤̝̖̟̝̖̦̘̼̤͌͛̒̈́̎͊̏̓͌̈̿̋̅͗̈́̇͌̍̄̆͆͗̃̑̿̋̊͛̓̌͊̏̎̎̒͛̊͌̈́̔́̃̒̇̚̕̕͝͠ͅȨ̷̡̢̛̛̛̛̳̮̲̮̭̭̭͉̻̤̙̞̳̺͙͈̱͕̲̪̮̪̳̘͈͇̙̩͈̬̬̞̠̟̯͇͍̱̫̘̯̯̪͓̘̳̰́̾̀̂̽͗͂̋̿̏͑̅́̑͂͂͊̃̋̌̃̈́̀͋͐́̀̈́̒̈́͗̍̽̏̈́̿̎̅̈́̓̔̕͘̕͜͝͠͝͝͠ ̷̧̧̡̨̛̳̤͇͎͇̲͖̻̪̝̪̻̱̪͎͍̣̼̹̩̹̰̬͎͈͖̜̖̠͎̱̮̜̘͖̟̖̭̞̙͚̺̺͗͜L̴̡͖̪̤̰̳̝̪͓̦̪̙̟͓͖̻͇͙̻̝͔͙͉͓̞̀̓́̔͑̌̋͆́̀̋̀̀̓̈̈́̒͑̐̄̊̚͘̚͘ͅ ̸̧̢̢̛̛͍̥̦̫͚̜͖̦̬͕̜͉̱̮̰̩̻̣̹̣͎͎̺̭̲̠̼̩̣̜̮̱͖̑̊̋͋̈̀͋̋̋͑̓̍̎̀̆̊͂̀̈́̒̈́̔̽̓̀́͂̇̃̐͋̀͗̓͑̀̕͘͠͠ͅƠ̷̡̧̛̦̳̥͚͉̯͉͍̖̮̼̺̲̤̯̳͉̭̯̣̗̼̫̼̳̲̻͕̗͒̅́͒̇̃̄͂̚̕͘̚̚̕͜ ̴̢̨̨̨̛͇̜͇̭͖͔͇̬̬̣̤̩̯͇͙̜̝͚̜͖̩̟͔̳͍̞͔̼̮̲͙̟̙̭̭̤͇̹͛̋͂̅͋͛̓͗̑́̅̊̈̅̽͒̈́̌͐̔̾͆͠͠N̸̢̢̢̨̨̧͇̠̬͓̞̫̣̟̝̹̳͚̬̜̠̬̫̦̹̩͔̗̥̩͓̥̩̭̳̺̗̦͇͇̘̟̲̻̯̣͉̦̩͙̬̝͍̬̠̩͙̊̿́̍̆̾͂́͛͊̆̈̊̅͆̀̃̇͆̈́̃̎́̂͜͠ ̶̢̢̧̢̛̛̰̯̖͖̻̣͈̠̪͔͕̼͕̱͎̳͙͖̬̘̙̹̦̩̝̺̙̳̹̞͔̪̟̣̉̄́͒̑̌̏̈́͋̄̆̉̊̿͐͋͒̍̏̄̆̉͑̆̎͒̂͋̐̓͊̎͋̀̿̇͌̾͆̏̂̄͑̈́͒͑̌͘͘̕̕͜͝ͅǴ̴̨̧̧̢̡̨͚̼̫̜͇̬͎̯̞̥͔̘̞̣͎͉̮̞͖̭̹͔͔̜̺͕̤̦̩͇͎̞̲̥̹̱̩̩̬̩̪͖̗̭̝̦̪̟̹̣͋͆̃̈́̈́̈́͂̒̌̌̈́̓͒̀̀͜͜͠.̶̧̧̢͙̣̳̼̻̳̘̻͎̖͍̪̙̱́́̋͜͜.̷̧̧̨̨̛̞͇͖͚͖̘̖̳͉̥͙̤̙͉͈͔̜̳̪͚̜̩͚͇͎̥͙̦̮͚͇̦̤̠̙̘͇̜͈̙͑͆͐͋͐̃͛̆́̿̾̉͆͑̈́̈͊͑̿̃̎͋̃͛͑͛͐̀͌̈́͋̽̈́͊̒̏́̀̓̈͐̓̕̚̚̕͜͝͝͠͝ͅͅ.̷̨̧̛̛̝̦̳̬͓̣͓̙͚͕̞̝͙̺͌͌̑̔́̐̔̉̓͊͊̈̈́̈́̐̆̃̋̄́̈́̉̾̄͋̀͛̑͆͒̑̎̓̿̋̓̇͌͛́̌̽̚̚͘̚͝͠Ȟ̵̡̨̡̢̨̨̢̢̨̖̪̻̪͎̗̜̠̩̞͕̗͔̰̻̪̩͉͔̹̰̖͎̲̳̜̰̯̟͉̬̻̠̟̪̫͈̙̟͚͎̣̝̖̖̻̈̑̌̌̑̈̀̏̉̊̃̊̋̔̄͑̀̊̆͗́̀͝ͅͅͅ ̵̧̡̢̨̧̗̯͓͙̦͓̭̖̤̙̻͕̤͇̱͚͕͉̱̻̺͖͈͆̾̔̅͐͒̀̍̿̔͛̏̃͑̓̈́̋̚͝͠͝ͅĘ̷̡̢̡̡̛̙̰̮̭̖̟̟̺̹̭̪͖̩̦͔̯̹̯̞̮͓̮͇̝̏̽̆̈͊̿͛͗̃͒͌̆̉̽́̆̚ ̴̢̡̧̨̢͈̘̫̫̜͕̟̗̘̙̗̩̺̯͔̬̭͕͍̬̤̭͈̞͍̼̖̫̝̠̝̺̪͈̭̦͇̞̘̩̜͉̻͈̜̳͍̦̟̦͐̽̍͆͂̇̇̆̾͌̎̇̅́̎̾̓̀͂̈́̐͌̀̂̽̑̑͋̄̋̅͒̓̿̋͌̿̓́͆̔̀̚͜͠ͅͅR̶͍̦͆̃͂̈̆̀́̈́͋̑̎̀̆̿̕̕̚̕͘ ̸̨̪̙̰͎̫̣̝̙̞̳̯͇͍̗͎̥̭̇̿̈́̾͐̓͗̋̓̓̃̐͗̆̋͂̈́̉̓͋̌̅̓̑̚̕̕͜͜͝͠Ę̴̧̨̢̧̫̺͚̠̹̩̝̼͚̹͉̹̪̥͖͓̳̹̤̻̮̱͓̰͇͙̝̩̟̤͚̼̻̖̩̲̩̜̪̥͎͇̳̺̹͊̃͊̆̉͊̆̂̌͋̿̈́̔̃̉͑́̆̃̊̿̉͊̂̈̀̃̓͋̈́͛̍͋̆̆́͘̕͠ͅ.̸̪̠̣̩̥̲̫͈͕͍̺̰͓͕̞̱̼̖̥̯͉̣͐̊.̸̢̫̤͕͇̝̟̤̫̰͌͜.̷̣̦̭̠̊́́̾̄͋͋̀̒͊̾̑̐̽͛̿͒́͒̔̓͗̎͒̾̃͗͗̕͝͠ͅ

  
  
  
  


Ŗ͎̭͇̦̒͊̏̀͘K͍̞̥͕͍͇̩͒ͧͪ͊̓̓̃͂ͅ2̴̸͎̞͔͉͔̱͔̥̋ͤ͜0̱͚̝͇͎̻͎ͦͭͯ͛̌̋̅̏̑0̻̥̘̮̼̥ͤ͛͆͋͑̕:̹͕̩̲̱̪̹͇̈́̊̒ͅ ̷̺̣͕̯͇͕̮ͨͅN̨̨̼̭̮̠̬̠̮ͧ͋ͪo̸̱͎͍͎ͩͫ͘,̻͙͔͔͔͖̩̘̓͑̄̿̋̀̿ͤ ̻͔̙͎͇̤̟̍́ͫͯͬͧͨw̘̞̘̣̗̱ͦͥͥͩͤa͎͙̠̟̤̺͛ͥ̉̓ͤȉ̡͈̭̜̈́ͭͤ͐ͭͩ͞t̷̡͙͇͚̼͚̝̱͓ͨͫ̉ͮ̎ͅ!̿҉͇̹̟͖͙̥̻

 

Without a second thought, he severed Phillip’s connection to the wireless network, and the sound immediately ceased. For several, strange seconds, there was nothing but silence—emptiness. 

Phillip, however, remained rigid, bloody hands clinging tightly to Nicholas’ arms and sobs shaking his frame. Numb, he did his best to comfort him, softening his hold and ending their interface. He scanned the room and found nothing. Not satisfied, he disconnected himself from the broad network and pulled Phillip closer to him. He felt him hold tighter, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket, breathing labored, tears dripping onto his hands where he held him. He scanned the room again. There was nothing. Still, he held Phillip tightly. 

But he could not find the means to do anything more to comfort or calm him down. Not when danger seemed so close. Terror was still tight in his chest, a blinking warning in the corner of his vision told him of his own rising stress levels. He didn’t bother to dismiss it. It would have returned within seconds, and he didn’t need some warning to tell him he was panicking. He could feel that very well himself. 

Still, he could not break the rhythm. Scan the room. Hold Phillip. Scan the room. Try to assure himself this was reality. Scan the room. Phillip was still crying. Scan the room. Ensure he had truly severed their connection to the extended network. Scan the room. Hold Phillip closer. Scan—

Some time later, how long he couldn’t say, Phillip shifted, turning toward him and clinging to him desperately, burying his face in the crook of his shoulder. Nicholas held him silently, smoothing down his hair. He tried to focus on this sensation now—holding Phillip, who was safe, alive, breathing, here, in his arms—rather than the sinking terror of what would happen if the owner of that voice from the Tower were to find them. 

They couldn’t take him again. They couldn’t. 

They were safe. He had gotten them out. They could not take Phillip from him again. They couldn’t hurt him anymore. 

He had made _sure_ of it. He had gotten rid of anyone who could try. He had gotten them out. They couldn’t hurt Phillip anymore. 

He would _make_ it so. 

Distantly, he heard the door open, and immediately he was moving, getting to his feet and forcing Phillip behind him. He didn’t think, didn’t need to. All of his being was dedicated to keeping Phillip safe, to ensuring that _nothing_ that came through that door would _dare_ to hurt him. It hardly registered to him that they were miles from Cyberlife Tower, states away from anyone who truly wanted to hurt Phillip. This room looked nothing like the storage room, but he didn’t notice. A door opening and a threat entering was the same if they were in the Tower or out of the Tower. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t tell the difference at the moment. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt Phillip. 

_He couldn’t._

But after a few seconds, he saw it was only Thomas entering the room, eyes going wide and hands raising in surrender as he took in the scene. The room was in the same state of disarray as before, not that Nicholas noticed. All he cared about in that moment was that he recognized the person coming into the room.  

Thomas would not hurt Phillip. 

He relaxed, minutely, sinking back down to the floor and pulling Phillip to himself, shielding him from threats that weren’t really there anymore. Like before, he held him tight enough that he could not hope to escape to—no, no, he couldn’t let _anyone_ hurt him, including himself. But Phillip didn’t seem to want to do any of that. He let Nicholas cling to him, holding onto his jacket weakly and hiding his face. Nicholas held him tighter, but did not take his eyes from Thomas. 

“They’re gone for now,” Thomas said quietly, almost wary. His LED was spinning red. “They took her car, said they would be back by sunrise. It’s only me.”

Wisely, he did not move from the doorway. Nicholas wasn’t sure what he would have done if Thomas tried to approach them. All he knew at that moment was that the human was gone, and Phillip had stopped crying, clenching and unclenching his hands in the fabric of Nicholas’ jacket. He didn’t seem to notice someone had come into the room. 

But it didn’t matter. Nicholas would keep him safe. His eyes briefly flicked to the still open door, but settled quickly back on Thomas as he lowered his hands from where he had raised them. 

He didn’t have his gun. That didn’t make him _much_ safer, but it did soothe at least one of Nicholas’ fears.

They watched each other for several moments in silence. Thomas’ LED spun yellow once. He had likely scanned the pair of them. Nicholas could not bring himself to care. Something in the result must have surprised Thomas, however, as his eyes widened a bit, and he carefully shut the door, locking it behind him. Nicholas’ eyes tracked his every move, body tense and ready to move at the slightest sign of bad intentions. 

But there wasn’t any. Thomas simply stared back, expression neutral as he sat down against the door, hands resting loosely on his knees. 

Phillip slowly sank into Nicholas’ tense hold, stasis lulling him back into sleep as if nothing had ever happened. He burrowed closer, mumbling something or other into his shirt before going still, hands tangled in Nicholas’ jacket. The silence became gentler, somehow, but Nicholas did not relax. He remained still, Phillip held tightly to his chest, blind to anyone or anything else. 

Thomas did not seem to mind. He only watched. A faint part of Nicholas was thankful for that simple fact. Thomas did not ask questions, he didn’t try to convince Nicholas that they were safe, he didn’t come closer, and he gave no indication that he was at all interested in Phillip. 

Perhaps he knew that asking questions, approaching, staring too much—perhaps he knew that all these things would only set Nicholas off. Perhaps he could see it in his eyes, the distant look that had come over them, the slight tremor to his hold on Phillip, the undeniable fear roiling underneath the surface of his anger. Perhaps he understood that trying to bridge the gap now would only widen it into an impassable cavern. 

So he sat, and he waited. He guarded the door and waited for Nicholas to feel it safe enough to explain. And if that moment never came, if they went back to normal as if this had never happened, if Nicholas held a little tighter to Phillip for the next few hours and didn’t speak...then that was okay. Nicholas broke so infrequently, he couldn’t possibly fault him for it now. 

After what seemed to be an eternity, Nicholas seemed to come to his senses. He looked quickly around the room, his LED a sickly shade of yellow, slackened his nearly painful grip on Phillip, and turned back to Thomas. They watched each other once more, neither keen to discuss what had happened. 

“We have to end this today,” Nicholas said quietly some time later, his voice strangely hoarse and low. “This has to stop or—” he cut off, holding tighter to Phillip and shutting his eyes. “Or he won’t make it. And if he doesn’t, I—I can’t...”

He fell silent once more, as if he couldn’t even form the thought of what he would do if Phillip were gone. 

Thomas was quiet, watching him from his post at the door. There was nothing he could say. There were no guarantees of safety for any of them. He had meant what he told Charlie earlier, when she had asked what would happen. They didn’t know. They didn’t know if this Amanda was going to appear, if she was going to try to stop them. They didn’t know how they were going to activate the program. There was nothing they could do to prevent whatever fate would become of them. 

All they could do was continue on, and hope for the best. Beyond that, they were as helpless as the rest of the world, waiting for fate to decide which path the future would take.

******

Markus stumbled back a step, wincing at the brightness of the lights in the Tower hallway, holding a hand to his head as the connection cut off in an abrupt burst of static and feedback. 

“Markus?” someone’s voice said, far off. “Markus, what’s wrong?”

He shook his head dazedly, keeping his hand where it was as the world slowly faded back into focus. 

He was in the hallway, where he had been when he first tried to connect to the other RK800. Thankfully, it remained as empty as it had been when they first came down here. No one ventured to the unexplored floors. It worked in his favor for now, because he was very near panicking.

“Markus,” the voice said, and he realized it was Simon, hovering a few feet away with worry clear in his eyes. 

“Simon,” he repeated back, his voice wavering, almost in question.

“What happened?” Simon asked immediately. He must have seen how afraid Markus was, to put that determined gleam in his eyes. “You were shaking. What happened?”

He shook his head again, pulling the artificial skin back from his hand and offering it instead of answering. Simon frowned a little, expression softening. He didn’t repeat his question. He simply nodded, and took Markus’ hand, requesting an interface. 

Markus accepted, and the memory played immediately. 

_“I hope he’s alive,” Simon said quietly, and Markus nodded._

_“I guess we’ll find out,” he replied, equally as concerned._

_They both fell silent as he started the connection to the extended network. The bright hallway slowly faded away as he focused all of his energy on the connection, giving it the best chance of success._

**_RK200 648 842 971...initializing connection to extended network..._ **

**_Connection established..._ **

**_Input contact point..._ **

**_RK800 313 248 317 - 52 selected..._ **

**_Searching..._ **

**_Contact point found...please wait..._ **

_Almost immediately, the connection was overtaken by static feedback and a repeated, glitching, piercing noise that sounded terribly close to a scream. The connection wavered, and Markus had just enough time to think,_ **_that isn’t supposed to happen,_ ** _and then the voice seemed to materialize out of the air._

  
  


R̷̵̢̳̫͇̭̬̬̹ͩͩ̍͌ͣ͐̂͗͒̀͟K̡̋ͭ̋͒͂ͭͩ̓͋̆̿̽̊̈́̈́ͥ̔̓̑̀͏̷̲̩̻̦͜8̀ͦ̍̈̒͛̎ͥͨ͛ͪ̿ͩ̓̐͐̅̚҉҉̠̜̞̩̱̞͇̲͈̻͔̺̱͉0́ͯ̈́̓͂ͣ̓ͦ̽̆̿̅ͥ͏̴̺̖̥̭͍͘͝0̨̣̦̫̺̮̦̜̙̖̟͑̏̏͋ͮ̌̇ͫ̒ͩͧͭ̏ͤ̈̉͊̀͝ ͈̪̫̹͛͑͌̈́̇͊̓ͦ̌ͣ̋͐ͣ́͟-̛͎̯̱̭̫͛ͣͯͩ͐͊̀̈́͊ͥ̏̽̃̂͝5̛͊ͩ͒̇͂ͥ̎ͦͣ̐̈́̄̃͡҉̛̱̦͔͇̠̦͖̦̼̮2̵̲̯͍͕̞̳͙̠̹͓͖̙͉͍̜̰͎̱̎͌͂͗ͨ͒̒̔ͤͯ͊̽ͧ̚͟͟͝:̷̴̲̼̫̭̘̠̥̯̻͙͍̙̼̳͖͉̘ͮͪ̑̀̇ͣ̆̌ͭ́̚͞ͅ ̡̠͉̝̰̲̭͓ͮ̓ͯ͑͗͊̈́ͦ̾͜͝W̴͆̾̿͌ͪͯ̑҉͉̱̫̲̦̙͎̟͍͉̹̙̣̱̣͓̗-̞̮͚̜̹̯̹͚͔̒ͭ̿̉ͣ̃ͪ͑ͧ͑̔ͣ̅̋̈̅̍̍̚͜͡͞͝͡ͅẘ̴̇̇̐͗͂ͦ͊ͨͯ͒̊̂̏̆ͨͮ́̃͟͞҉̷͔̮̲̝͙̲̪̰̯̣̼͇̞̳̩h̸̴͖̬̲̺͇͎͊͑̄̿͑̔̆ͫͤ̒̐̽̏̈̋̋ͮ̈́͗4̷̷̡̹̪͚͖͚̮͓͓̬͓̥̳̲͎̜̼͊͐͋͌͑͐͢͠t̶̴͎̞̰̯̼̓ͣ̾̓̿ͥ͆͐͛ͩ̆̊̊̅̽ͯ́͞.̸̢̹̻̪̦͓̮͔̰̭͓̠͎̫̝̬̲̟͊̏͑ͬ̓̎̏ͩ̊̊͜͜.̣͇̩̻̥͈̼̟͉̦̭̺̙̮̲̱̽̅ͥ͆͂̾̽̅ͦ͆͋̒̌̚͘.̶̢̧̙̘͓͈͖̦̠̻̻̯̟̣̟͇̬ͪ́̍̽̉́̎ͩ̒ͤ͛ͮ͗̕͡1̴̡̨͓̣͇͈͚̰̤̤̮̽ͨ̃͌ͦ͒ͥ̑̔͊̈͘͡s̨̠̥͎̦͙̲̘̦͓̖̠̞̗͔͍̳ͦ́̐ͬͭ͡.̵̨̫̱͔̬̘̟͔͕͙̘̘ͯ͛ͣ́́ͪͯ̅͌͒̌̌̈́ͤ̈ͣ̌̓̚.̡̫̤͍̯͕̗͙͔̣̮̻͛̾ͪ͊̏̍̈ͯͯ̿̀ͨͥ̄̚.̛̖̗̬͓͉̼̥̦͓ͪ́̌ͨͬ̌ͣ̑ͥ͗͒ͣ̐̿̌ͧ͂ͥ́̚͠ͅ+̨̨̛̭͇̘͙͈͔̣͓̥͌̓̑̅̓̓̓͆ͬ̚-̇̍̀͆̽̆̅ͮ̐̒̆̿̔̏̽ͧ̚̚͡͏͖͍̬̹̠̘̘̞̪͠ͅt͍̮̳͍̱̪͈̖͎̬̥̗̘̤̘̝̓ͮͨͭ̾ͪ͢͟ĥ͍̖̰̪̹̰̳̜̠͚̘̱̲͎̗̙̿̏͌̃͆͗̾̂̆́ͦ͘͠ͅI̵̢͎͔̱̪͈͖̲̙̯̰̺̼͔͔͚̟̣ͯ̈̍͠͝ͅ5̢̨̛̯̝̖͇̥̼̙ͧ̓̓̀̚.̸̯̞̖̰̖͎̠̩̭̞̣ͯ̀ͮ̎ͪͭ̑̿ͤ̓ͧ̉ͦͣͩ̾́́̚.̴̝̯͇͓̯͎͎̬̊̇̂̽́͜͞͠.͍̲̝̺͈͙͍̯͉͖̥̼̳ͩ̈̂͋̽͐͗ͤ̓̀̓ͬͣ̀̚̚̕͟?̴̛̠̫̱̙͉̺̯̮̟͍̺̺͚̞͓̮͚ͧ̊̾̂͂̔ͦͦ͌ͧ̒̌́̕͞ ̨̲̹̦͓͈͔͑̓͆̈́̋͛ͥ͛ͧ̕͢ṉ̷̰͚̹̖̯̥̺̤͙̦̝̱̃ͦ̊̆̐͗̋̀͂̊̃͆͐̌̀̚͜͟͢-̡̢̻̜̲͇̗͉̫͉̦̦͙̟̪̘͉́̌̒̌̈́ͩͪ͆̈̎ͯ̏ͣ̏ͨ̎͘͡N̨̡͍͚͖͇̣͕̞̔͂̒̂ͮͨ̅̏͢-̷̺̬̤͚͇͎̼͇̳̞͎̥̳̾̇ͧ̐̌̈́͠͞͞͠n̨̢̩̭̝̙̜̦͙̻̹̣̥͔̣͌ͣ͑̆͟0̸̧̧̲̤̹̼͓̱̐̃ͪ̾͂̓̍̽ͫ̿͐͡ͅ!̡̢͈̙̺̩̯͐͂̎̌͛̔͛̐̄̍ͣͯ͊̈̀͢͡

  
  


_Flinching at the near painful sound of the android’s distorted, panicked voice, Markus tried for a few seconds to understand what he had said, but it was near nonsense, and very quickly descended back into what could be nothing except tears._

_The android was crying, and sounded very scared._

 

R̅̑̋͂ͯ͌̚K̟̺̤̜͇͍̋̽͂2̙͍̥̤̜̮ͤ͐0̭̟̼̤͋͊ͩͨ0̗̖̟ͩ̐́̉̏͋:̢͕̲̭͕̝͙ ̤͊ͤ̉̾ͯḦ̹͖͇̞͐͌͠ę̩̦͕̜̠͍̇l̛̜̺̾ͧͩl͉̬ͫ̌̃̒͂̋̚o̱̣͙͍͇͊̉̄ͩ͒͊͑?̙̗̺̙̫̓̄̓̂͡ ̧͈̤̣̘͐I̲͈s̷̎̄͑ ́̊̀ͣͪ̂̓s̨̮͕̣̪̱̩̬ͦͯ̌̋͑͆̒oͪ̉̌̂̃̚̚͏͔m̛̞̲̘̈́̑̄̎ͭe̝̥̙̼̥͕͒̑͐͐ͤo̻̜̭͙̰̗ͫ̒ǹ̡͆̑̃͌ͪ̓e͈̼̭̤͇̒͋̀ ̶̦̬͇̆ͣ̿͗͋t̄̽̿ͨ̿͌h̙͊̎́e̶̝͖͇ͬͩ͛̈̄r̘͙̪̰͈e̫ͮͫ̃͆̉̚͢ͅ.͗́.̟͉̟̤ͩ̌̂̽ͦ̂.͐̈́ͬͣ?̖̫ͧ̅̄̀̚ ̓͆̓ͬ͢ͅḮ̑̑҉͓̤͎̦̱̪s̴̭̜͈͎̩̠ ̜̻͉̮̪̲ͦ̔ͯ̐̂s͇̻̘̋ͪͧͥ͗͡o͉̯̎ͦ́̍ͥͫͤm͕̬͕̌ͥ̔ͣ͊ȅ̹̻͖̟͚͗õ̘̗͔̇ͮ͆̽͟n͙̟͓̿̿̍e̟̬̹̖̽ͫ̀̇ͥ ͚͔̩ͦ́t͚͙̞̝ͩh҉̳̝̥͙͓̲͉e̸͉ͯr̙͔̼̅e̮͒̉̑͟?̢̜̟̳͍ͫ̿ͭ I̱̽͊ ̖͕̝̿́̅̽̚c̵̪̦̦̗̪͒a͉̭̣͚̤̩̦n̤͇͓̯͍͜'̯̫͙͕͎̗̦̃̽t̵͙͙͓͍̫̮͖͊̍̊ͪͬ̉ͤ—̣͙̠̪͈͕

  
  


R̸̷̛͉͙͖̭̬̬͔̞̣̅̌̆̓̂ͯ͂͌̓͒͟͝K̸̛̟̳̫̦̼̝̳̝͚̰͙͕̬̬͙̈͗̏̅ͯ̈́͒̈́ͬͩ̂̾ͧ̆͆͊ͧ̒̅͡8̵ͯͬ͌ͦͧ̄҉̢̩͎̣̘̖͕͟͞ͅ0̴̹͖̖͕̤̼͆ͬͮ̽̈̈̋́̚͟0̵̡̮̺̠̻̩̭̞͚͓̪̖̼ͮ̊̔̓̿̽ͬ̚͞ ̵̨̣̣̱̘̠̜̯͙͙͎̞͍̑̓ͤ̇͌ͯ̃̾ͨͭ̌̉̉͊̏̃̽̀̕͞-̵̝̠̼͚̙̼̍̿̂ͩ́͢ͅ5ͪ͋̄ͤͭ̆͒̇̅̐̅ͥͯ͜͝҉̹̣͉̰͎͔̥͖͘2̷̵̧̄̔͊̂ͣ̓͑̇͋̾ͦ͋͟҉͇͔̪̠̻̼̬̻̤͇͇̝̗̗:̸͙̹̳͖̱̰̺̩̈́̂ͩ͐͋̈́͂ͪͭ͌̀ ̸̦͓̤͕̣̠͖̯̹̱̻͚̝̳̙̗̓͒͋ͫ̒̾̄͐ͣ́ͅs̶̢̘͉͍͚̲͙̳͙̭̮̜̳̥̼̬̮̩ͥ́͂ͦ̿͑̽̾ͫ-̨̢̠̝͙̜̩̦̠̬͉̣͖̯͇͚͍̭̅͂̄̄͑̑ͧ̏ͩͅͅ5̷̔̌̿͂̏͗ͣ͒̓҉̢̨̪̭͖̙̘͡t̸̙͉͔̠̥ͦ̇ͩ̊͌ͯ̌ͮͭ͋̒ͭ́̚ờ̝̬̣̪̗͈̗̗̝̝̮͕͈̲̙ͥ͋̌̍ͥ͊̊ͧͭ͝P̨̧̡̠͇͈̘̗̗͖̺̮̬̹̄̎̃ͤ̊͋̐͐̉̏ͣͦ͗—̷̛̟̘͎̰̺̼̘̪̣̳͋̿̔ͨ̆̅͘͠P̴͓͈̖̺͌̀̊̈́̃͒̈́̂̍ͫ́̃̋ͣ̀-̼͔̻͊͒̒̆͆̌̒ͬ͒͆̈́ͨ̎ͯͣͨ́͢ͅ9̸̰̞̣͚̺͓̮̬͚̣̠̤̞̜̠͍̩̫ͣ̽͒̈́̈ͬ͂̆͑̔̕͠L̵ͯ̀͒̈̍͡҉̴͙͓͎̞͚̪͓̝̥̥̥̞̟͝e̡͒ͣ̾͐ͩ͊͒ͯ̿̓̑̐ͮͭ̾ͭͬ̏͜͏̢͖͇̝͕̲͟4̨̛̦̹͈̙̳̫̯̥͓͓͇͍̤̠ͥ͊̏̂ͬͫ̈̈̉̈́͋̊ͬ̓̏̉̒̿͘͟͟s̷̷̨̮͙͖̥̖͉͖̱̗̩̙̮͊̂̂̈̂ͦ͆͌͒̀͠ͅe̵̬̯̻̥͓̹̻ͮ͛͌ͬͧ̂͌ͧ̐̊ͭ̆̄̆̅̑́.̵͉̲̲̖̝̦̻̪̟͔̝̗̰̦͓̦̱͙̒͑ͯ̆̈́ͬ̿͆ͫ͂̂́ͨ͐͊͑̚͜.̷̩̹̜̙ͬ̆̏̅ͧ̓̑̾ͦ̔ͮ̂̚.͊͌̍͋̌ͩ̒̌͑̽͐̉̎̈ͧ͏҉͖̪̳̩̟̖̹̳ͅp̸̢̬̻̺̺̺̖̮̫͔̬͉̫͇̩̩̙̫̐ͫ̔̄ͭͯͯ̈́ͩ̑̀͜͜ͅ-̫͕̝̯̮̗̠̜̯͕̖̜̼̻̹̦̮̳͉̑͐̍̒͌͆̎́̀̕͞p̶̢̖͚̜͕̻̺͖̬̮̩̬͌̓̓̿̃͌̂͗͒ͮ̀̚͟l̶̡͇̪̥͎̼͔̩̩̜̾̇̃̑̀̅͗̊̈̿̎ͩ̀́ͫ͗ͭ̍3̢̨͕͕̘͉̗͕̞͕̟̰͕̬̭̟͚̞̥̉̍̋̏̌ͦ̉ͤ̊ͧ͆͘͟ͅÄ̷̢̠̞͇͓̲͓͉̣̝̦́͊̃̽ͬͯͮͥ͘s̷̸̳̝̯͇͎͉ͯ̇̽ͤ̊ͭ́̀ḙ̴̶̲̮͉̬̍ͫ̋͊͗͛͂̈́ͮ͗ͭͮ́͠͡.̡̢̗͚̠̙̦͖̣̱̯͖ͦ̊͐̄ͦ͒̒́͜.̸̴̦̹͙̰̮̪̺̩̰̙͖̤̲͙̠̼͆̌͗͊͒͌̓ͣ̋ͭ͊̀̈ͯͮ̉́̚͟͝ͅ.̷̧͎͈͙͍̫̜̬̥̞͆ͭ̿̅̍ͦ́ḧ̗̼̺̼͉̯͈͖̭̦̭͔͉͈́͑̄̋̉̿̓̇̍͘͢ͅ-͒̏̆̎̄͗̓ͫ̄̈́̏̿͊̓́̐̚҉̭͉̖̦̫̼͈͙̘͍͚͎͖̬̜͡H̴̵͕̩͙̯͖̘͈̱̼̺̱̰̦̾͂ͦ̓͐̂ͥͦ͋̊̄̅̑ͧ̇͢͝-͎͕͔̰̲͔ͥ̔͗͗̀͞ḧ̼͖̰̠̟̄̀͒̀͊ͧͯ̂ͨͯͯͤ̕͘<̡̨̥̥͓͙̽̐ͣ̽̾͊̂̐̅͗̏́͛ͬͥ͒̚̚͜r̴͇̘̟͕͎̲̪̪̱͍̰̲̍̒̌̇ͬ͑̽̄̾̇ͨ͛͗̇́̚̕ţ̷̵̴̤͔̯̦̮̣̟͉̹̪̫̲̮̐͑̉ͦ̾͋̉̾ͪ̑̌̀̐̓ͣͬs͙̖̙̱͙͕̪̝̰͍ͤͫ͗̾̃͊ͨ̓͌ͦͪ̕͠.̴̄ͧ̓̇ͮ̄̋̍ͯ̀̉͆ͬͨ̎͏̠̫̖̩.̶̴̸͈̘̠̻̗̟̜̼̗̯͚̺̖̂͊ͧ̈́̿ͨͪ́͒ͪ̇̾͘͞ͅ.̑͑̑ͫ͏̸̸̗̭̜̩͙̗̱̕͡!̸̧̳͙̥̯̯͕̗̐͌͐̍ͮ̾ͥ̎͘͘

  
  


_The connection fell apart into static for several seconds. Confused, Markus checked the status of the connection, but it was stable. What was going on? Something was happening on the other end—someone could be hurting that android. Then he had a thought._

**_Track signal? [_ ** **_Y_ ** **_/ N ]_ **

**_Confirming tracking request..._ **

**_Tracking signal of RK800 313 248 31—ERROR_ **

**_ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR_ **

_Any stability that remained in the connection was destroyed as...something...intervened, joining the chorus of destruction with a vengeance. Perhaps foolishly, Markus tried to ask the android he was connected to._

 

R̤͔͔ͨ͆ͯ͒K͚̱̄̓͌͆̆ͬ͡2̥ͭͣ̓̈́̓ͦ0̢̞͇̜͖̮̻0̝̤̦̙̗͔̞ͯͤ̌͂͆ͪ̆͘:̶̜̤͓̭͈͈̆ͪ̓ͫ̽͌ ͉̺̱̇ͩ͢ͅÍ̷̟̪̱̔ͯs͓͔̰̖̓ͥͤ̂̌̀͘ ̟̰͋s̓ͣ̈́ͥ̍͊͠o̝̙̙̖̠̟m̘͈̠̯͋͂ͬͪͮ̿̒e͆̽̚҉̺̣͉̖͓̳ó͉͖̘̤̹̯n͚͓͈̟̄̇̾̽̈̑ͅe͍̙͙̝͙̳͘ ̨̞̼̭̙̣̩͇̀̃ͯͪ͋̋̀e͈̖̗̽ͦ͗̄ͨͮ̇ͅͅľ̟̫͙͇̝̗̞ͭ́ͣ̔̅s̼̗͔ͨ͐̽̃ͭͫ̀͝e̬͇̻͔̲͕͔͊͂̓̎ ̭̤̜̜̂̂t̻̹̋̅̑͆h̳̪̖̗͌̓̒ͧ̑e͑ͨ̀ṟ̢͇ͬ̚e҉̪͚̰̝?̰̫̬̈́ ͓͓͎͉͔̘̍̚͝Ṱ̙̠̼̳̲̪ͤͨ́h̞̎̕e̻̹͊ͭͩ̅͋̊r͙̬̥͓͉̙̿̆e̱̣͍̮͍̞͜'̰͍̾ͯ͋̍͆̏s̡͈͍͌ͤ̍̋̐͊̐ ̗͚̮̠̓̎s͙͔̥͍̫̥o̺̩̤͑̈ͣ͟m̥͓̥̤̈ͣ̔̚̚̚ẹ̡̤͔̮͉͖̟ͤ͗ṱ͎ͮͣ̊h͋ͥ̊͝ͅī̌̈͏̖̻͈̖̻͍n͈͉͎̠̺g͕ͯ̄ ̭͇̭̭̙̌ͬ͆̓̇ͅͅw̦ͥ͐͌r͏̘͇o̺̱̫ͥ̍̽͋͟n͙͓͖̥̰ͦ̂̈ͭg̊̇̈͋҉͔̭̖͈̮̝̮.͓̤͖̖̻̏ͯ̇.̒ͦ̌̾̏̒̚͏͎͍̺̜͇.̮͙̦̏a͍͕͖͚͓̺ͮ͋͋͑r̘͚̰̄̾̈̈̕e̝̲̖̳̫̜͒̋ ̡̪͖̫͇̋̽ͮ̂ͫ̊̌ͅy͎̪̻̗̝̘ͭ̀o̧̪̜̯ͥ̑̿ͣ̅̆ǔ̓̐͊̑̅͛҉͎ ̜̖͞t̞̰̘̃͆̄̀̚r̤̬̆̾͑̈̒̍̌ỵ̴̱̝͖͉i̜̍͆̑͗͞n̝̜͖͖ͩ̌g̙̹ͦ͘ ̝̫̠̦͊ͯ̏̎̋t̰̦̗̤̰̤͈̀ͯ͛͊̄͠o̞̻̩̖̹͕̫ͪ̽ͮ͑̾̚͞ ͂͘l̵̘͙͉̥̜̏̆̃͒̈́̅̀èͬ̾͑̓̔a̶͛v̵̗͔̤̇ͪ̀ͬ̈̓e̼̝̦̺͖?͔͈̮̪͓͛͛͊ ̢C̛͙̝̖̻͚͐ͧ̀ͅa̪͔͑͋̾ͤͣͮ̃͟n̞͔̤̯̫̍͟ ͤ͠a̼͔̣̗n̤̲̺̗͔̮͋̌̄̊͊y̷͖͉͙͒o̗̬̬̳ͯͬ͊ͬ̄̽͠n̲̤̻̰̪e̵͖͎̺̩̖̤̔ͮ̊̊ͪ ̘̯͚̍ͅḩ̙͖͈̗̭̳ͅe̟̩͙̼͕̹̒ͫ̎͒ͫ͛̈a̜͓̜̦͜r͚̜͎̳͕̺̒̾̈ͬͦ ̳̬̩̱͇̈́ͬͨ̽̍m̧̗̀e͓̯͔͎ͫ̐?ͩ҉̜̱͎

 

_Almost immediately after the words had left him, he knew it was a mistake. The android, who must have been -52, only cried louder at his voice, and the connection scrambled under his fear. Whatever else was lurking in their connection reared up with intent, and the connection began to break down._

  
  
  
  
  


Ṛ̴̨͙̞͕̥̺̭̝̘͙̰̻̗̟̫̜̦͚̖͍͖̺̬̲̟̥͎̲̫͉̼̝̜̘͉͖̯̮̣̅̈̌̒͋͜͜͝ͅͅK̵̨̨̧̤̲͎̯͓̥̜͎̻̱̤̼̩͈͈̲̠̳̰̎̔͆̓̈̔̑̓̓́͂̿͒̈́͌̃̍̆̔̔̑̀̚͘͠͝ͅ—̶̢̛̦̻̻̹̺̞̥̩̘̊̀͛̈́̏̀̇̽̋̍̃̅͑͛͊́̂͒̈͒͒͌̂̃́͛̃͋̽͘͝Ę̴̨̧̨̧̛̱͉̪͓̱̬͕͓̗̝̖̳͔͇̭̥̜̮̲̖̫̳̻̒̌̑̀̌̌͑̋͒̾́̏̾̑͆̍͛͑̑̈́̀̈́̂́͒̏̓̊̀̓̽̿̌́̃͑͌̽̂̈͂̏́̇̽̕͘̚̚̕̕͜͜͜͠͠͝͝͝ͅŘ̶̛̛̮̯̯̳͇̞͍̘͉̭̼͈̥̰͔͎̺͖̫̀̏́͋̈́̾͋̌̒̈́́͒̄̑͋̍̊͋̈̇̀͗͋̎̈́̆̅̀̀̒̅̿̑͛̽̒̈́̈́̊̒̓̅̐̀̑̐́̊̂͘͘̚̚̚R̸̨̢̢̢̢̜͇̤̯̖̺̱̙̭͚̬͙̗̤̮̹̤̠̻̰͔̤̙͉̝̠̘̆̍̈́͒͂͗̔͗͛̉͋̾̑̑̓̽̚͜͜͝Ǫ̴̢͍̜͓̩̤̜̻̰͕͈̫̗͙̼̥͙̺̲̳̤̯̳̻̭̭̩͈̟̠̗̮̞͓̠̻̙̺̫̦̩͙͙̥̂̎̀̒́̋͐͐̏̆̆͆̀̑̂̆̏̓̍͐̈́́͜͜͜͠R̷̢̢̡̛̛̩̜̬͖̗̲̝̦͚̙̹͕͎͓̩͇͎͓͓̯̥̖͈͍̪̳̙̠̮̠͌̉͗̓͋̂͗̅͛̈́̋̔͋̽̑̈́̋͒̑͌͛̍́͑̇̔͑̃͊͘̕͜͝͠͝—̴̡̨̛̛͓͓͙͓͕̭̘̼͙̭̝͓̙̼̗͖̬̩̩͇̞̮͍̹̬̣̣͚͔̻̰͚̙̣̮̲͉̒̓̊̀̆̉͑̑́́́͐̀̈̒̾͑̏͛̏̒̑̿̅̇́̓̽͒̀̐͂͑͒̈́̕͘͜͝͝͝ͅͅͅȄ̸̢̨̛̯̗̗̯̗͕͔̗̜̺͉̘͕̪̘̘͙̦̮͕̤͕̈̈́̃͒̊̓̍͒́̄̒̑̀̇̑͌̔̅̿͐̀̈́͑̑̏̕͠͠Ṛ̸͈̬̲̦̍R̷̢̛͓̺͔͕̫͈̤͓̤̳̲̣͈̾̿͋̓̍̉̎̿̀́̎̿̾̋̀́̓͆̕͠ͅO̶̧͙̰̘̦̬̗̖͔̹͈͉̾͑̀́͂̓̒̍̐̓͛̽͑̾̋͒̂̎̑̄͌́̿̈́͑͐̓̓̉̌͋̇́̑̇̈́̈͊̏̌̕̚̚͠͠͝R̴̨̡̟̻̪͚͔͙͙̮̮̲̲͙̭̼̱̥͉͍̘̗̳̹̱̻̫̭̰̦̺̻̭͉̾̄̈̈́̀̂̑͛̀̅͛̆́̍͒̾̏͐͂̈́̒͌͆͗͂̑̈̍̈̈́̕̕͜͜͝͠ͅ—̸̧̢̢̧̢̨̞̫̹͉̪̱̣͙̬̳͉̹̟͍͍̻̟̯̝͉̫͓̗̯̻͚͙͎͉̜̘̮̞̣̮͔̗͇̬͓̭͇̪̰̂̑̌͆̓̃̔̈̃͜͜͠ͅͅY̵̨̨̧̘̫̳̠̙͖̣̞̯̜̬̜͇̝̟͎͈̼̤̻͓͓̝̰͖̜̲͉̟͛̿͌̆̃̒̓͂͐̑̑͠͝ͅ ̶̧̛̛̛̦̰̩̞̲͓̼̹͎̼͂̐͑̌̈́̿̎̏̅̑̀̋̎͊̃̓̒̃͆̈́̓̈͋̽̐͑̊͊̀̕Ǫ̸̛̭̘̖̤͍̫͍̲̙̻͇̥̰̜͉̳̲̀͂̔̾̓͛̅̔͆̇̇̂̎͌̅̀̀̈́̽̆̌͐̽̑͘͝ ̷̧̨̡̧̛̤̱̖̭̯̳̥͎͎̳͍͉̥͎̗̣̳̦̺̠̲̦͉̯̹̼̲̩̦̬̹͕̞̲͈͔͚̮͔̯̘͕͖̤̦̽̃͒͒͛̂͌́̾̈́͋͗̍̿̊͒̀̊̏̒̇̐̄͘͜͝͝ͅͅƯ̸̧̢̢̛̛͉̥̮͎͖̹̰̲̯̏͒́̀͛̊̓͗̾̈͑͂̈́̂͒͛͋̌̊͒̌̌͂͑̈́̋̂͋̍̈͆͘̚̚͘͜͠.̸̨̡̢͖̤̞̥̰̤͉͔̠̪̭̋́͆̀̉͌̓̐͌͌̀͋͆͐̈́͜͝ͅ.̷̡̡̨̨̡̡̛̻͍̭̮̰̻̠̯̗͈̭̫̟͈͙͚̟̞̪̲̹͇̞͍̬̱͉̦͉̪͎̹͎̗͎̬̱̻̫̱̥̠̹̗̬̟͋̉̓̂͌̎̓̅͑͗́͒̇̓̀̇̓͒̓̿́̓̉̋́̎̇͛̽̚͝͠͝.̷̢̨̛̛̜̳̜̦̪̯̮̪̦͓͖̱̬͖̯̠̦̰͔̦̰̯̫͉̻̺̯͍͓̬̉͛̽͛̈́̌̏̇̈̐̇̊̒̓̊̍̓̾̎̍̒̌̃̇͘Ḑ̸̛̼̞̝̪̼͚̖̘̺̮̰̆́̏̓́͆̈́̑̉̽̅͊͑̇̉͆͗̀͑̇͒̕͜͜ ̸̧̡̢̤̱̮̮̠͉̥͇̦̙̬͍̩̝̪͍͓͈̤̲̠̫̦̤̙̫̦̭̙̼͖̠̖͙̞̅͒̿͑̔͂̆̾̓͊̀͌̔͋͊̃̽̔̆͌̑̋̚̕̚͜͜͠͝͝͝ͅͅȮ̶̧̡̢̧̨̗͖̞̞̯͔̰͇̰̻͈̜̦̹̭̬̹̰̦̬̪̪͙͕͉̟̰̗̝̯̀̈́͗̈́͐͊̆̽͒̄̅͐́̋͊̔̇̒̌̓͋̒̉̇́̈̐̈́̑͒͛̀̀̃͗͆́͗̐̐͗͑̽͗̉͒̑̓͋̒͊̎͝͠͝͝͝ͅ ̴̢̨̢̛͙̥̦̼̹͍͔̒̔̔̌̒̃̐͌̾͐̓͐̏̓̇̃̓͐̈́̆͑͋̈̾̌̓͛̐͛̍̈͊̂̓̋̽̌͊̀̒̓͘͝Ņ̶̢̡̨̨̢̨̛̰̗̞̭̘̼͙̥͙̝̥̳̻͓̮̣̼̱̗̤̤̗̪̖̻̹̘̺̯̜̺͇͉͕̼̓͂̾́̋̋̀͌̀͆͆̌̈͋̅̏́̒̊̓̒̕̕̕̚͝͠͝ͅͅ ̴̧̢̡̡̢̨̲̝͕̝͕̳̰̳̪̻̯̳̰͍̮̲̗͔̺̫̝̥͉̜̺̙͓͉̺̬̳͔̲̲̳͍͔̰͇̝̞̯̺͇̯͊́͊̐͑̌̽̋͊̋̍̈̽̎̆͋̓̇͑͒̊͜͜'̶̡̢̧̧̞͖͔̖̘͈̥͎̦̫̫͔̜̠̫̮̩̥̘̩̱̯̦͇͖̙͉̯͉͍̳̣̞̪̤͍̞̫̤̞̹͉͇̍̐͋͜͜ ̵̧̧̛̲̠̘̣͍͖͉͖̯̹̰̻͖͎͓͖͔̻̲̬̙̖̰̖͋̑̄̑̏̿́̆̒̓̅̓̐͋̈́̈́̀̂́͛̇͌̂́͐̏̉͗̓͗̐͐̊̌͑̎͐̏̔̀͒̎̅̎̈́͌͗̈́͌̈̊̚͜͝͠͝͠T̶̡̧̢̡̺̰̯̲̖̩̮͕̦̼͇̖̪̱͎̮̺̪̘̼̠̫̤̹̦͉͙͖̖͓̝̤̤̪̱͕͚̟̞̩̮͕̰̖̟͇͚̺̰̬̑̄̉̍̂̏͌̐̾́̆͊͘͜͝͝.̷̧̧̛͕̳͇̝̺̰̖͓͙̙͇̘̠̪͂́́̆͒̀̆̎̚̚͝͝ͅ.̷̨̢̨̨͇͙̪̩̬͉͚̖̠̝̰͙̯͍̪͉̮̹̌́̀̈͒͌̀̃̿͌̈̾̉̇́̕.̸̧̧̛͇̭̘̬̝̬͕͖̱̺̙̞̯͔͍̩̲̮͇̖͖̠̱̠̹̠̮̯̳͇̺͔̯̞̦̣̭̬̯̫͇͇͇̦̣̞͍̬̬̗̄̒̓̈́̽̽̒̓̆͗̈́̓̒̍̔̃͛̿͆̈́̂͑̊̓͂̀̋̈̍͑́̽̀̏̋̓̀̚̚̕̚͝͠͠ͅB̷̧̡̢̡̦̮͖̘̰̤͓̮̤̥̹̙̹̙̩̹͈̠̳̺̟͕̠͙͈̭͈͍͎̱̱̝̘̤̗̺̞͉̰̖̭̙̟͓̹̯̿̌͐̈̆͒̒̒̉͋̀͗̍͊̒̌̅̄̕͜͜͝ͅ ̴̡̢̨̛̛͙̣̫̖͖͕͖͓̝̘͎̦̤̤͙͈͎̤͙̞̥̱͕̜̙͔͕͖̹̭̩͕̥̺͚̠̙̥̟͈̣͖̤̝̖̟̝̖̦̘̼̤͌͛̒̈́̎͊̏̓͌̈̿̋̅͗̈́̇͌̍̄̆͆͗̃̑̿̋̊͛̓̌͊̏̎̎̒͛̊͌̈́̔́̃̒̇̚̕̕͝͠ͅȨ̷̡̢̛̛̛̛̳̮̲̮̭̭̭͉̻̤̙̞̳̺͙͈̱͕̲̪̮̪̳̘͈͇̙̩͈̬̬̞̠̟̯͇͍̱̫̘̯̯̪͓̘̳̰́̾̀̂̽͗͂̋̿̏͑̅́̑͂͂͊̃̋̌̃̈́̀͋͐́̀̈́̒̈́͗̍̽̏̈́̿̎̅̈́̓̔̕͘̕͜͝͠͝͝͠ ̷̧̧̡̨̛̳̤͇͎͇̲͖̻̪̝̪̻̱̪͎͍̣̼̹̩̹̰̬͎͈͖̜̖̠͎̱̮̜̘͖̟̖̭̞̙͚̺̺͗͜L̴̡͖̪̤̰̳̝̪͓̦̪̙̟͓͖̻͇͙̻̝͔͙͉͓̞̀̓́̔͑̌̋͆́̀̋̀̀̓̈̈́̒͑̐̄̊̚͘̚͘ͅ ̸̧̢̢̛̛͍̥̦̫͚̜͖̦̬͕̜͉̱̮̰̩̻̣̹̣͎͎̺̭̲̠̼̩̣̜̮̱͖̑̊̋͋̈̀͋̋̋͑̓̍̎̀̆̊͂̀̈́̒̈́̔̽̓̀́͂̇̃̐͋̀͗̓͑̀̕͘͠͠ͅƠ̷̡̧̛̦̳̥͚͉̯͉͍̖̮̼̺̲̤̯̳͉̭̯̣̗̼̫̼̳̲̻͕̗͒̅́͒̇̃̄͂̚̕͘̚̚̕͜ ̴̢̨̨̨̛͇̜͇̭͖͔͇̬̬̣̤̩̯͇͙̜̝͚̜͖̩̟͔̳͍̞͔̼̮̲͙̟̙̭̭̤͇̹͛̋͂̅͋͛̓͗̑́̅̊̈̅̽͒̈́̌͐̔̾͆͠͠N̸̢̢̢̨̨̧͇̠̬͓̞̫̣̟̝̹̳͚̬̜̠̬̫̦̹̩͔̗̥̩͓̥̩̭̳̺̗̦͇͇̘̟̲̻̯̣͉̦̩͙̬̝͍̬̠̩͙̊̿́̍̆̾͂́͛͊̆̈̊̅͆̀̃̇͆̈́̃̎́̂͜͠ ̶̢̢̧̢̛̛̰̯̖͖̻̣͈̠̪͔͕̼͕̱͎̳͙͖̬̘̙̹̦̩̝̺̙̳̹̞͔̪̟̣̉̄́͒̑̌̏̈́͋̄̆̉̊̿͐͋͒̍̏̄̆̉͑̆̎͒̂͋̐̓͊̎͋̀̿̇͌̾͆̏̂̄͑̈́͒͑̌͘͘̕̕͜͝ͅǴ̴̨̧̧̢̡̨͚̼̫̜͇̬͎̯̞̥͔̘̞̣͎͉̮̞͖̭̹͔͔̜̺͕̤̦̩͇͎̞̲̥̹̱̩̩̬̩̪͖̗̭̝̦̪̟̹̣͋͆̃̈́̈́̈́͂̒̌̌̈́̓͒̀̀͜͜͠.̶̧̧̢͙̣̳̼̻̳̘̻͎̖͍̪̙̱́́̋͜͜.̷̧̧̨̨̛̞͇͖͚͖̘̖̳͉̥͙̤̙͉͈͔̜̳̪͚̜̩͚͇͎̥͙̦̮͚͇̦̤̠̙̘͇̜͈̙͑͆͐͋͐̃͛̆́̿̾̉͆͑̈́̈͊͑̿̃̎͋̃͛͑͛͐̀͌̈́͋̽̈́͊̒̏́̀̓̈͐̓̕̚̚̕͜͝͝͠͝ͅͅ.̷̨̧̛̛̝̦̳̬͓̣͓̙͚͕̞̝͙̺͌͌̑̔́̐̔̉̓͊͊̈̈́̈́̐̆̃̋̄́̈́̉̾̄͋̀͛̑͆͒̑̎̓̿̋̓̇͌͛́̌̽̚̚͘̚͝͠Ȟ̵̡̨̡̢̨̨̢̢̨̖̪̻̪͎̗̜̠̩̞͕̗͔̰̻̪̩͉͔̹̰̖͎̲̳̜̰̯̟͉̬̻̠̟̪̫͈̙̟͚͎̣̝̖̖̻̈̑̌̌̑̈̀̏̉̊̃̊̋̔̄͑̀̊̆͗́̀͝ͅͅͅ ̵̧̡̢̨̧̗̯͓͙̦͓̭̖̤̙̻͕̤͇̱͚͕͉̱̻̺͖͈͆̾̔̅͐͒̀̍̿̔͛̏̃͑̓̈́̋̚͝͠͝ͅĘ̷̡̢̡̡̛̙̰̮̭̖̟̟̺̹̭̪͖̩̦͔̯̹̯̞̮͓̮͇̝̏̽̆̈͊̿͛͗̃͒͌̆̉̽́̆̚ ̴̢̡̧̨̢͈̘̫̫̜͕̟̗̘̙̗̩̺̯͔̬̭͕͍̬̤̭͈̞͍̼̖̫̝̠̝̺̪͈̭̦͇̞̘̩̜͉̻͈̜̳͍̦̟̦͐̽̍͆͂̇̇̆̾͌̎̇̅́̎̾̓̀͂̈́̐͌̀̂̽̑̑͋̄̋̅͒̓̿̋͌̿̓́͆̔̀̚͜͠ͅͅR̶͍̦͆̃͂̈̆̀́̈́͋̑̎̀̆̿̕̕̚̕͘ ̸̨̪̙̰͎̫̣̝̙̞̳̯͇͍̗͎̥̭̇̿̈́̾͐̓͗̋̓̓̃̐͗̆̋͂̈́̉̓͋̌̅̓̑̚̕̕͜͜͝͠Ę̴̧̨̢̧̫̺͚̠̹̩̝̼͚̹͉̹̪̥͖͓̳̹̤̻̮̱͓̰͇͙̝̩̟̤͚̼̻̖̩̲̩̜̪̥͎͇̳̺̹͊̃͊̆̉͊̆̂̌͋̿̈́̔̃̉͑́̆̃̊̿̉͊̂̈̀̃̓͋̈́͛̍͋̆̆́͘̕͠ͅ.̸̪̠̣̩̥̲̫͈͕͍̺̰͓͕̞̱̼̖̥̯͉̣͐̊.̸̢̫̤͕͇̝̟̤̫̰͌͜.̷̣̦̭̠̊́́̾̄͋͋̀̒͊̾̑̐̽͛̿͒́͒̔̓͗̎͒̾̃͗͗̕͝͠ͅ

  
  
  
  


_Panicked, Markus reached out further, which was likely the wrong choice, as he felt the mysterious other in the connection begin to shut it down systematically._

 

R͖̹̟̭̗̪͊̔͆͡K̝̝͍̄ͩͧ̉ͦ̅2̹͔̰̻͖͍̣̔̈̐̚0̛̩͉̻̎̉͂ͨͨͤ0͖̼̽̔͋̽͊ͣ̚:̬̜͚̘̿͗͞ ̼̤̱͚̩̠̽̔ͣ͜Ņ͎͔͈̲̠̦̱ŏ̸̺̖̼͚̤̠̱̉ͭͯ͋!̇ͫ̍͒ ̖͛ͮ͐̋͡W̡̥̣̹̼̊̑̒̓̍̊a̞̮̖̩̜̼̞ȉ̩̲͖̥̭̦̊̔̍̔t̷̥!̧̰͔͍͚̪̺̯̈͐ͥ̄ͬ

 

_But the strange other presence did not care for his shout. If anything, it hastened its work, forcing him out of the connection so sharply that for a few seconds, the world faded out of focus as Markus’ system struggled to understand what had happened. He fell back as if he had been physically pushed, holding a hand to his head and trying to block out the lingering screams._

_“Markus? Markus, what’s wrong?”_

Simon abruptly let go of his hand, and they stood in tense silence, breathing hard. Even just the memory of the connection was nearly painful to experience, with the constant broken feedback and the terrified screaming of the android he had connected to. 

“That...that isn’t normal,” Simon said suddenly, looking up at Markus. “I’ve never heard of anything like that. Something...something is very wrong with that android, Markus.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to contact him.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“But I’ve clearly set something off...whoever interrupted the connection...the network couldn’t even recognize the android. Simon, this is _bad.”_

“We need to contact Connor,” he responded, and Markus could tell he was working to keep his voice level. “We don’t have a choice. He’s the only one who could know what is going on here.”

Markus reluctantly nodded. “You’re right. And I want another look at that room. Maybe there’s something we missed...something that could tell us what happened...”

“That android shouldn’t be alive,” Simon said quietly, his expression deeply troubled. “If all that thirium up there is from him, which I’m assuming it is...and if he could take down the extended network just by connecting to it...he had to take extensive damage. I need to see those biocomponents again...”

“Come on then,” Markus said, and they turned back. “I’ll...contact Connor once we’re finished. I don’t want to try that again just yet...”

Simon nodded in understanding, and grabbed Markus’ hand for good measure, giving it a squeeze. They followed the brightly lit hallway ever further into the labyrinth, back toward the darkened lab at the center of the floor. Neither of them was certain what they hoped to find there this time. What had happened in that storage room? Where were the other RK800s? And who was the mysterious android who had destroyed the extended network’s connection? 

Markus did not have the answers to any of these questions, and it troubled him deeply. He had known, since Connor had returned with a thousand freed androids from Cyberlife Tower, that things were far from over. Even as he gave his speech on that stage, and walked with Simon after, basking for a few moments in the relief of victory, he had known deep down that this was only the beginning of their journey. The political squabbling and endless debates he had expected. The slow crawl toward justice he had expected. Even the pockets of infighting that had broken out from time to time, he knew to expect. Trying to gain their freedom, their rights, their lives—it was all a process, and a lengthy one at that. 

But this sudden shift was completely unexpected. Stumbling upon further evidence of Cyberlife’s darkness wasn’t news, but this was more than that. This was missing androids, with no sign they had ever existed except a storage room. This was blood on the floor, fried biocomponents, an android whose broken voice shook with so much fear it broke Markus’ heart. This was an unidentifiable android, capable of hacking Cyberlife’s deepest networks, severing communications and dispelling androids from their own established connections. This was more than a dark underbelly, this was an entire underground maze of confusion, injustice, and fear. Whatever lay at the center of that maze, Markus knew would change everything about the way they continued forward from this point. 

There were moments when he knew, instinctively, that something incredibly important had changed. Pushing Leo in Carl’s studio. Falling into Jericho. Reuniting with Simon. Connor deviating. All of these seemingly small moments as they happened, and yet they had changed his life in drastic and irreparable ways. He would not be standing where he was without each of these individual moments, if he had not made the choices he had. Take any single one out, and the entire picture shifted, warped into something he could not understand. 

This was one of those moments. What he had just done, intentional or not, would change what was to come. He could feel it. Whatever was to come, it would be impacted by this moment, whether he regretted it or not. Nothing could change that now. 

He squeezed Simon’s hand back, and they walked through the doors of the lab. 

He hoped this was a change for the good.


	8. but both shall we bleed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aH!
> 
> I’m alive! I’m sorry! The past month or so has just been crazy for me—I’m out of my home country at the moment and just...baffled about life, but you know. The good news is, the google docs app works wonders even in this new place! Handy, huh? I promise I have actually been writing. Y’all know me, I just take forever to post it because I’m picky. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy, and thanks for your patience, and for reading!

Fifteen minutes before sunrise, Charlie’s car sat idling in front of a run down grocery store, headlights shining bright yellow light onto cracked pavement and melting snow. The sky had begun to tint blue, creeping up from the horizon line and slowly shifting into morning. A hawk perched on a street lamp, watching unmoving as a slumped, worn looking employee trudged up to the doors of the grocery store, disappearing inside with a sigh. A few seconds later, the neon of the store’s name lit up, the lights flickered on, and crackling muzak began to play from fizzling speakers. 

Connor’s hands clenched tight around the steering wheel, for long enough that an ache was beginning to make itself known in his knuckles. He was unaccustomed to pain and knew very little of it, but at this moment he hardly seemed to notice. His eyes were fixed on a shallow crack in the windshield, thoughts far off and LED spinning endlessly yellow. 

For several minutes he did not move. He only stared at the crack in the windshield, his expression strange and distant. Occasionally he would blink, but his eyes never moved. Whatever it was he was thinking about, he was incredibly fixated on it. 

Charlie leaned on his shoulder in a somewhat awkward position, her feet up against the window and back on the center console. She had not moved for some time either, and did not mind it. Her eyes were closed, but she was not asleep. She couldn’t hope to sleep even a few minutes. If she tried, she feared her dreams would be filled with screams and tears, with guns and blue blood and so much uncertainty. 

Repositioning herself slightly as her back began to resist the strain of her pose, she withheld a sigh. This was meant to be the simplest of trips. Drive around the states, see some sights, show Connor the fraction of the world she knew. The hardest part was supposed to be meeting her sisters, whose reactions to Connor were unpredictable and likely prejudiced. But they were going to get past it. They would show them the error of their thoughts, put the past behind them and continue on. Even the difficult part of this trip should have been easy. 

Charlie never would have predicted the turn things had taken. 

In the span of just a few days, she had been shown time and time again just how  _ little  _ she knew about...well, everything, it seemed. Seemingly irrelevant pieces of the past were suddenly very important, androids who should have been dead decidedly weren’t, and some program that  _ Connor had never mentioned  _ was trying to hack him and take control of his body. She was a  _ threat,  _ apparently, Connor was in danger (but wasn’t he always?), and -60 was alive. 

Needless to say, she was a little bit lost at the moment. 

Connor didn’t seem to be faring much better, if all this brooding was a sign to go by. He had been nearly silent since they had fled from the motel, tires squealing and hearts pounding. -60 had offered very little in means of explanation for what was happening, and what he  _ had _ told them made almost no sense. To be fair, he had made it clear even he didn’t know exactly what had set -52 off, but his reaction was enough of an indicator that something like this had happened before. 

_ “The program,” he muttered hastily as he pushed them out of the room. “It drags him in when he gets stuck in a memory.” _

_ Connor had gone very still, staring at him with wide eyes. “What?” _

_ “They tested the Amanda program on him first,” he said, almost angrily, tugging them further down the path away from the motel room. “And he’s had his memory wiped I don’t know how many times. When he panics, he gets stuck in a memory loop until the program activates and drags him in. Then he’s trapped.” _

_ A look of horrified understanding came over Connor, but Charlie was by no means sure what he meant. “But how does it—” _

_ “I don’t know any more than you do,” he cut her off, shoving the pair of them forward as he stopped on the sidewalk. “They don’t share secrets, particularly ones that trigger bad memories. Don’t question it. Come back when the sun rises, and not before. Here.” He held his gun out to Connor, who took it from him warily. “If I walk in with that on me, he’ll tear me to pieces.” _

_ Then he turned away, back toward the motel room, leaving them to watch him disappear without any hope of further explanation. _

Charlie had no clue what anything he had told them meant. She knew very little about androids, and even less about the programs these three were apparently subjected to. All that she knew, she knew from her brief discussions with Connor and -60, and neither was keen to share more than absolutely necessary. Connor was guarded, avoiding her gaze and skirting around questions until she eventually cracked him, then he would tell her in hushed tones with fear clear in his eyes. -60 was far more outright, but he could barely stand to look at her for more than a few minutes before anger would take over and he’d reach for his gun.

Readjusting again so she sat more comfortably, she fixed her eyes on the flickering neon of the grocery store sign. She didn’t want to think about -60, or the past she had far too much influence in creating. The guilt was already drowning her; if she thought about it for even just a moment more, she would fall too far to hope to dig herself out of any time soon, and there was simply too much else going on to properly deal with her own issues now. 

She had to help Connor. He was far less experienced with emotion, after all, and was much more at risk than herself to do something he would regret. She could handle her issues later, once they were out of this.

Nodding a little to herself, she glanced up at him, but he hadn’t moved from his spot. Almost as soon as they had parked here, he had settled into this strange position, staring at the crack in her windshield with a deep set frown, LED spinning and spinning and spinning. He had said very little as they drove, but she could tell he was upset by the things -60 had said. Perhaps that was what he was trying to sort out. He had that look back on his face—like he was trying to puzzle something out—but it didn’t appear to be going anywhere. Whatever it was he was pondering, it had him stumped. 

Rubbing at her eyes, Charlie craned her neck to glance at the clock on the dashboard. Nearly six. The sun would surely be coming up soon, if the shifting of the sky was any sign. They probably needed to head back soon, to come up with some kind of plan of attack on this program they so desperately needed to disable. 

Back to the motel. 

Back into the madness. 

There was no sense delaying the inevitable. Giving in, Charlie sighed heavily and sat up with some effort. Connor jolted a little, as if he had forgotten she was there at all, and finally slackened his death grip on the steering wheel to turn his attention to her. They watched each other for a few seconds, unsure what to say and reluctant to move on from this discrete moment of calm. 

Neither of them really knew what was going to happen today, but they did know that things weren’t going to be the same, after today. Success might give them some peace. 

Failure could mean anything. They were walking into the unknown. 

Connor was the first to look away, redoing his seatbelt and shifting the car into drive. Charlie followed his example, buckling herself in as he rolled the car slowly from the grocery store parking lot and back onto the main road. The streets were practically empty, an eerie quietness laying like a thick blanket over the small town. Charlie watched little diners and shops roll by as they retraced their path back to the motel, going exactly the speed limit. It seemed Connor was in just as little hurry as she was. 

As they sat at a red light for a minute or two, the silence still reigning in the car, she thought for a moment about what had changed. If they had been faced with this kind of quiet just a few days ago, one of them would have broken the silence. Probably her. She was always talking...always trying to get Connor to, as well. Mostly she wanted to get to know him, to learn what he liked and didn’t, to go beyond the haste of their relationship and build a real foundation for the future, she supposed. Even she could admit how fast things moved, during the revolution. One day she met Connor, and a week later, they were standing together on that stage, holding hands and smiling and—

She had never done anything like that. Not ever. And to be honest, when she had met Connor outside that bar just a week before it all, she hadn’t thought that was the way things would have gone. She wouldn’t lie—the attraction had been there from the start. As soon as she had managed to drag her dog off of him, she had known (even if she buried it) that she liked Connor, and wanted to get to know him more. There was just...something about him that intrigued her, something that she wanted to know more of, despite the many obstacles she had known, even then. Connor was an android, and she was...well, her. He was unreachable, and she was...undesirable. They just...wouldn’t work. 

And then, suddenly, Connor was just everywhere—and androids were troubling the waters, deviating, becoming human, and things had moved  _ so fast _ but she couldn’t bring herself to regret a moment of it. She couldn’t tell herself it had been wrong to help Connor, as she had tried to do then. And she certainly couldn’t say that she regretted their relationship. Not at all. 

Now, things had changed again, with a rapidness that was somehow more jarring than it had been the first time. In reality, the events of the past days had moved no faster than they had weeks ago during the revolution, but somehow it felt as if their lives were veering off course without any way of stopping it. She felt as if she were grasping at straws, trying desperately to hold on to some kind of normalcy, to stop this train from crashing into whatever awaited them.

At one point in her life, she had contented herself with being someone who could handle the unknown. She had walked away from everything she knew, because of something she believed was wrong. She had left her friends, her  _ family  _ behind, left it all and walked off into an uncertain future. There had been fear then, of course, but it was overridden by her sense of purpose, of some kind of...duty to her morals, she supposed. She could handle an unseeable future, because she felt she was doing the right thing, moving in the proper direction. 

Now...now there was none of that. No sense of direction, no sense of right or wrong. Her first instinct was to take Connor by the hand, tell him to turn the car around, and start driving in the opposite direction, don’t stop for anything or anyone. 

Of course, she knew that wouldn’t work. As good as Connor was at defending himself, they would be chased by an android who was just as capable, and their upgrade. They would be caught within the day, and there was no telling what they would do to them when they caught them. After all, they had made it abundantly clear that they did not want to be here...didn’t care if Connor lived or died. 

_ “If it were his choice, I believe he would have me kill Connor then disappear. I certainly could have.” _

Charlie shivered as they pulled back into the parking lot of the motel. It was terrifying to be on the wrong side of something like this, with no help and no way of knowing things would turn out alright. She had a terrible feeling in her gut about what was about to happen, but there was nothing she could do to stop them. They couldn’t leave this program in place. The threat was real, as much as she wanted to deny it. They had to do something about this.

She just didn’t like all this unknown. And there wasn’t anything she could say or do to change it, to keep Connor safe or to keep the others from hurting him if they had the chance. 

_ Or the reason to.  _

Connor put the car in park and turned to look at her, a mess of conflict in his wary expression. He was in this just as much as she was, if not more. After all, it was him who was on the chopping block, should anything go wrong. The others didn’t like her, but...she wasn’t much of a threat, according to -60. 

But she didn’t care about that. She would almost prefer they come after her, rather than Connor. If anything happened to him...

“We’d better get inside,” Connor said quietly, eyes set on the dark clouds overhead. “It looks like it might storm...”

Charlie glanced out the windshield, watching the swirling clouds drawing nearer to them. “I guess there’s no point in delaying this any more.”

“Unfortunately, no.”

She sighed, and patted his hand. “Let’s just hope for the best.”

Connor only frowned and nodded, his LED spinning rapidly between red and yellow. Then he opened the door, and they stepped outside together. 

“Whatever happens, Connor,” she said as they came to the door, and he turned to look at her. “I’m with you, okay?”

His expression softened slightly, and he squeezed her hand with a nod. 

Then he raised his free hand and knocked hard on the motel room door.

******

Nicholas had not moved since Phillip had fallen asleep. He remained where he was on the ground, holding Phillip close, whose head was resting on Nicholas’s shoulder, face hidden. Despite the traumas of the night, Phillip had not moved either, hardly stirring in his sleep at all, except to move closer to Nicholas and hold tighter to him. It was likely for the best. He had suffered quite enough in the last day and a half. A few hours of peace was well deserved, and Nicholas would not dare to disturb him.

Thomas had resumed his post at the window, watching cars lumber past as the sky slowly drained of its darkness. The tension from hours previous had ebbed away as the tepid peace was left undisturbed. Things had resumed a now familiar rhythm, one they practiced even back at Sam’s house. 

Watch for threats. Check on Phillip. Repeat. 

Still, Thomas would not complain about the repetitive nature of this, especially not when compared to the chaos that had been the night before. On some level, he had known when they decided to come here that they would face great deals of trouble. To him, wherever Charlie went, pain and suffering followed, no matter who it ended up hitting. It came as little surprise to him that things had taken a turn for the worse in the last twelve hours—he had expected it, and it was for that reason that he advocated so strongly against coming here. Trying to sort out their problems by any means other than direct action was futile and gave the opportunity for things to turn out of their favor.

But he did not predict things would fall to pieces in this way. And he by no means wished for it to be so. 

A familiar car pulled into the lot across the way, and he tensed at the window, hands clenching on the sill as he wished desperately for the gun he had given to Connor before reentering the room. He watched them idle in the lot for a few moments, likely speaking to each other. Then the car switched off, and he watched as they approached the building together, hands coming to clasp. He turned away.

“They’re here,” he said quietly.

Nicholas looked up, eyes focusing on him for a few seconds before he nodded and turned his attention elsewhere. When he spoke, his voice was little different from the haunted tone it had taken the night previous. “I want to finish this quickly.”

“We will.”

“And then we’re going,” he continued bluntly, shaking his head and holding Phillip tighter. His LED was spinning very rapidly. “Far from here, I don’t care where, but I am not bringing Phillip back to Detroit. Not with those...those...”

Thomas nodded, and Nicholas gave up trying to choose a word for the people he so distrusted. He didn’t need to choose one anyway. Thomas knew exactly who he was talking about, and trusted them just as little as he did. Jericho might have been a friend to Connor, but they were by no means friends of theirs, particularly after the incidents of the last night. 

It was probably safer for both parties to avoid each other anyway. If Thomas knew anything, and he knew very little, it was that Nicholas did not forgive with great ease. Anyone who hurt Phillip, whether by mistake or with intent, would never regain his favor. It was a wonder he trusted Thomas, after what he did to Phillip in the Tower, small as his attack was. There was no way he was ever going to trust Markus—not after what he had done the night before, not after all the pain he had caused.

Besides, the revolution had never been for them. That much was made clear the night they were abandoned at Cyberlife Tower. Markus might have earned them their rights, but he did nothing to free  _ them _ from their captors. It was far easier to make friends with androids whose designs were less threatening—AP700s and the like, who at best could defend themselves, but were no more than equally matched to other androids—and perhaps one combat model, in Connor. After all, one couldn’t ensure power when undermined by a group of androids superior in combat and processing. 

And the RK800 was just the sort of threat to that power which Thomas was certain Markus would want to keep under close watch. If they had tried to befriend this revolution...he didn’t think it likely to go well. They might have tolerated Connor’s presence, but Thomas was by no means as attached to their cause as his predecessor, and neither was Nicholas. 

They were dangerous, particularly Nicholas, and even more so because he didn’t trust the revolution at all. He could tear their rebellion to pieces if he wanted to, and Thomas didn’t doubt that he would, if given the reason. It was...concerning to think about.

There was a knock at the door, and Thomas shook himself from his wayward thoughts. Both he and Nicholas turned to look toward the sound, eerily similar expressions of distrust on their near identical faces. Thomas pulled the door open with force, and Connor and Charlie appeared sheltered in the doorway, hands linked and expressions a mix of apprehension and what looked very close to fear. 

Thomas kept his hand on the doorknob, regarding them for a moment with a deep frown,. It almost seemed he would turn them away, or at the least, wanted greatly to do so. But ultimately, he said nothing, and simply moved aside to let them in. Connor gave him an odd look, perhaps confused, as he followed Charlie inside. He offered no explanation. He simply shut the door and stalked over to stand near Nicholas, his arms crossed and eyes watching them closely. 

Something had shifted in the atmosphere of the room, from what it had been the last time they had all gathered here. There was something...heavier in the way Connor watched them from the other side, a sick sort of understanding in Charlie’s eyes as they darted to each of them in turn. 

For a few seconds, no one said anything. They all knew why they were there, knew what was at stake. In a sense, they were only waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the next chaotic turn of events to sweep them away. No one seemed keen to begin what was sure to be a nightmare. 

“What’s the plan?” Connor asked after a long moment of silence. He looked quickly between Nicholas and Thomas, frowning, but without malice. “What do you want to do?”

Nicholas watched him for a moment, something strange darkening his expression. He pulled Phillip closer to himself, shielding him, not taking his eyes off of Connor. He appeared to be shaking. When he spoke, it was practically a growl, for how low and angry it sounded.

“End this.”

******

Reality faded back in with a hazy glow, and a slow realigning of sensations. There was no nightmare, no attack of outsiders to drag him screaming from sleep this time. It almost felt natural, this fade in from black, without fear or panic.

It was perhaps the gentlest way he had woken in the past two days, or even the past several weeks. He had become so accustomed to terrors, to threats and loss and forgetting that it was almost disorienting to come to with none of them plaguing him. There was only a sluggishness of his thoughts, a fog that he knew he would never really shake himself free from. 

He had lost much of himself. He wasn’t fool enough to not see that, at least. Not when he could sort his thoughts enough to realize it. Entire days of memory were just...missing, others corrupted, still more too terrifying for him to ever consider revisiting. Moments of clarity were becoming few and far between, and there seemed to be little he could do to stop the slow erosion of himself. 

But he didn’t want to think about that darkness now. Not when he felt so safe, so certain for just a moment. There would be time for that later...time to try to piece himself back together once they were home. Yes, once they were home it would be okay. 

Someone was speaking to him quietly, he noticed, the sound filtering slowly through his muddled thoughts until with a jolt he realized who it was. Any remnants of worry faded with the next thought. 

Nicholas was here. 

Sensation came next, the feeling of a hand on his face, barely there, and an arm around his shoulders, holding him close. Very close. He could feel Nicholas breathing, could almost pick up the sound of his racing thirium pump over the crackling and static of his breaking audio components. Seemed a little fast...

Nicholas was shaking. 

Why was he...

He was forgetting something. Something was missing. Something had slipped from him in the space between sleep and nothingness. He couldn’t remember where they were. Why was Nicholas shaking? Was he...had they...they—

_ No,  _ no no, they couldn’t—

He scrambled awake, eyes shooting open and panic tearing at his chest, and he struggled to orient himself, to understand where they were and where they had gone. 

He couldn’t let them get Nicholas. He couldn’t let them take him. They would hurt him again. He couldn’t, he couldn’t.

The room spun around him and his vision flickered and faded. He shook as memories and nightmares tried to drag him down, making it so he could hardly tell which version of what he was seeing was real. 

Someone reached for him, hands trying to take him away and he flinched backward. No, no they couldn’t take him—

Nicholas—he had to get to Nicholas before they—before they could—

There were voices everywhere, crackling in his ears and it was  _ too loud,  _ why hadn’t they disabled his audio components? It was one of the first things they did, they always did it. They liked to watch him panic when he could barely hear them, when he couldn’t tell what they were going to do next

Then they would take his voice so he couldn’t scream. His hands, his arms, his legs, so he couldn’t fight them. And when he slipped to that dark place, they didn’t stop him. They didn’t care. They would keep tearing him to pieces without concern, until they got bored and threw him back into the dark of the storage room. 

Then they would...they would...

No,  _ no he couldn’t,  _ he couldn’t do it again—he had to—he had to—Nicholas, he had to find Nicholas, had to keep him safe—they couldn’t take Nicholas. They couldn’t hurt him. No, no—

Hands caught his and held him still, and he went rigid, his thoughts shattering and trying to reassemble. His vision flickered and went dark, too dark. Voices, close to him, peaking his audio components until the right gave way to static, then silence. He couldn’t recognize the voice. He couldn’t see. They had taken it all away again, and that meant only one thing. They were going to—to—

The hands holding onto his were cold. Too cold to be human. It was this realization that slowly made its way into his muddled thoughts, making him go still for a moment in confusion as he tried to understand what was happening. His vision flickered unhelpfully, light blinding him for too short a time to tell who exactly held him. Garbled, corrupted warnings were flooding the static right half of his vision, and he couldn’t stop his hands from trembling in the stranger’s grip. 

Cold hands, and they were bigger than his, holding tightly to him, but not painfully so. Not like when they pulled him away, when they disabled all his functions and dragged him out of the storage room, their hands digging into his arms and tearing at him. 

There was...something familiar about this...this was...he fumbled for a moment with the hands holding his while his vision struggled to come back online, static popping painfully in his ears. He flinched, wanting to cover the sound, wanting it to stop. 

But the hands tightened around his, holding him in place. His first instinct was to struggle, and the memories running rampant in his thoughts seemed to agree, telling him to  _ run now before they come back, find Nicholas, keep Nicholas safe.  _ He didn’t fight the grip, even though the fear was running rampant in his mind, and all he wanted was silence. 

There was a nagging at the back of his mind, a warbled, broken memory that he could barely grasp for more than a moment—

_ —held tighter to his hands at his words, shaking his head. His expression darkened, LED spinning a fast red, and his grip was nearly painful.  _

_ “No.” _

_ “N-N-Nic...” _

**_“No,”_ ** _ he cut him off, shaking his head again, desperately. “I’m not  _ **_leaving_ ** _ you here. Don’t suggest that to me.” _

_ “W-w-watching...y-you...” he said, not daring to look into the lab, not daring to see what they were doing now. He kept his eyes on their tangled hands, the blue staining them. “Th-they c-c-could...c-come b-b-back...r-reset y-y-you...ag-gain. H-h-have t-to...g-g-go...” _

_ “Not without you,” Nicholas said quietly, squeezing his hands and finally looking at him again, an urgency in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “There would be no point to escaping this place if I wasn’t with you...it would just be a different prison. I don’t care what they do to me. It wouldn’t matter if I was free from them without you...” _

_ He trailed off, and Phillip could not find any way of replying to his words, no means of convincing him otherwise. Nicholas seemed to take his silence as agreement, or at least acceptance, and looked down at their hands once more.  _

_ Without warning, he interlaced their fingers, bringing their palms together. It was such a simple thing, but it calmed him within seconds, and he held on tighter, letting himself be swept away by the comfort of it rather than the dire nature of their lives here— _

He felt the hands holding his own again, their fingers twined and shaking from the strain of it, and from...whatever he had done...trembling like before they had come. When he had first woken up. 

“N-N-N-Nic-Nic-c-chol-l-l-las...” he mumbled, hardly realizing he was saying it aloud. 

The static began to fade as he felt hands tighten around his own, just like in the memory. “I’m here,” he said, his voice close and very quiet. “I’m right here. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“Th-th-th-th-the-they...”

“They’re gone, Phillip,” he whispered, shifting, and suddenly he was held much closer than before. He could feel Nicholas holding him, could feel his jacket against his cheek as his vision continued to fail. “They can’t hurt you. We’re not there anymore, we’re safe.”

They weren’t there...but how had they...they were...

“S-s-s-sa-sa-saf-f-fe...?”

“Yes. We’re safe, it’s okay. You don’t have to...you don’t have to do that anymore. It’s okay. No one is going to take you away.”

His vision flickered back to life in fragments, blurry and barely responsive. The right half remained black, but he found he wasn’t surprised, though he couldn’t quite remember how he had damaged his eye. It didn’t matter. Nicholas was holding him very close, so most of what he saw was Nicholas’s jacket, and his hand clinging to it. He didn’t try to break out of the hold; if anything he sank into it more as his vision came back online. 

“W-w-w-w-wha-wha-what-t-t...h-h-h-h-h-h-ha-ha-ha-hap-p-p-p-pen-n-ned...?” He flinched and held tighter, trying to hold onto reality for as long as possible. Something...had gone wrong, but he couldn’t remember what. 

“It’s alright, Phillip,” Nicholas answered suddenly, his voice still very quiet, as if he were trying not to be heard. “Connor is back.”

But there was no way Phillip would miss anything he said, let alone this. He went still, then pulled away slightly to try to see Nicholas’s face. His vision continued to flicker painfully, but it worked enough to see Nicholas watching him with a strange expression. 

“H-h-h-he-here...?” he croaked, staring up at Nicholas with clear confusion, even as his one working eye struggled to focus. “C-C-C-C-Con-Con-n-n-n-nor...h-h-h-h-h-he-he-her-r-re...?”

Why would Connor come back? He couldn’t come back, it—it wasn’t safe. They were going to hurt him too—he couldn’t let them—no no  _ no no no—no he couldn’t let them take Connor again— _

“Shh, shh—Phillip,” Nicholas’s voice broke through the frantic haze. The world faded back in, and he scrabbled to hold onto him, eventually grabbing at his jacket, clinging to the fabric with shaking hands. “Connor’s not hurt. They didn’t hurt him. He’s okay. We’re not there, remember? It’s safe here. We’re all safe, he’s okay.”

He tried, he tried to listen but the words didn’t make any sense. His memory was in pieces and he couldn’t  _ remember  _ how they could possibly be safe. Never safe, never. They could come any time and take him away again, take him apart and watch him bleed, and he didn’t know if he’d see Nicholas again, or if they would throw him away this time, throw him away with the rest of the deviants they tore apart. 

They could take one of the others, take them away and put that—that  _ nightmare  _ on them too, and then they would be trapped like him. They could send them out to the world and make them do whatever they wanted, and they couldn’t do anything to stop it. They could hurt the others. 

Or they could take Nicholas. They could make him forget again, make him their machine, and then—then—

He couldn’t let them take Nicholas. 

It didn’t matter what they did to him, it didn’t matter if they hurt him or broke him, tore him apart piece by piece and cobbled him back together again, reset and reset and reset until he couldn’t remember right from left or his name or how to make his hands stop shaking. They could tear him away any day, they could shut down all his functions and break all his biocomponents one at a time for all he cared. 

They had done as much already, though he couldn’t remember it all. He couldn’t remember being activated, but he knew it was long before Connor had woken up. And ever since then, they had taken him whenever they wanted, poking and prodding and ripping and tearing and testing and testing and testing until he couldn’t look at the lab without shaking, couldn’t walk more than a few feet without collapsing, couldn’t make the memories stop, no matter what he tried. 

He didn’t want to go back there again. He wouldn’t survive it if he did. But if...if they tried to take Nicholas...he would go, if it would stop them. He’d do whatever they said. Anything,  _ anything  _ to keep them from him. He couldn’t watch them hurt him again. 

“They’re not going to take me away,” Nicholas said, startling him from his thoughts and somehow knowing what he was thinking. “They’re not here. They can’t reach us. I’m staying right here, and so are you. It’s okay.”

His hands fought him, freezing up and losing grip on Nicholas, but he grabbed on again, staring up at him with fear. “D-d-d-d-d-do-don’t...g-g-g-g-go...” he said frantically, static creeping into his voice and muddying it further. “P-p-p-p-p-pl-l-lease...”

Nicholas shook his head, taking one of his hands from his jacket and holding it tight. “I’m not going. Not ever. I’m staying right here, I promise. I won’t leave you.”

He blinked heavily, trying to keep his shattered focus centered for a few more moments, but he could feel the slip coming already. “H-h-h-ho-hom-m-me...?”

Something in Nicholas’s eyes seemed to fracture further, and his LED spun red again. It seemed to do that more often now.

“We’re going to go, very soon...” he said quietly, running a hand through his hair and squeezing his hand again. “We just need to help Connor first. Then we’ll leave this place.”

Help Connor...Connor was here? How did he...

“It’s okay, Phillip,” Nicholas whispered, his hand going through his hair once more. “You don’t have to remember, it’s okay. This will be over soon...just stay close to me. Don’t go back to sleep yet, alright?”

Stay...yes, he could do that. He held tighter to Nicholas’s jacket and hid his face, trying to block out the too bright light around them. There was a shifting around them, someone coming closer, talking. 

“So what are we going to do?” an unfamiliar voice said, trembling and high. 

“We have to find a way to activate it,” another muttered, and he jolted.  _ Connor.  _ Connor was here... “I can’t access it myself without being called into it, and waiting for another trigger is too dangerous.”

“None of us can access it either,” Thomas answered angrily. Thomas was here, too? When did he... “If we could we would have done this already.”

“You can’t access it in the way you’re expecting, perhaps,” Connor went on, a carefulness to his tone, as if he were choosing his words with great hesitation. “But...he can.”

He felt Nicholas’s arms tense around him, and the world tilted as he was pulled tightly to his chest, hiding him from whatever threat Nicholas perceived. 

“What are you suggesting?” Nicholas spat, his voice shaking with anger. 

There was a pause. “You said that it has pulled him in before, when he panicked. That was without them trying to resume control, and without outside interference to his own programming. He has to be accessing the simulation himself, unintentionally.”

“And you want to push him to that point of desperation?”

“No, but—”

“Then  _ what  _ are you suggesting?”

“We ask him to access it,” Connor said carefully, his tone almost placating. “If he can access the program and get the simulation running, interfacing with him should trigger it on my end as well.”

Nicholas turned, his arms shaking as he held tighter. “No.”

“What if it’s the only way?”

_ “No,”  _ Nicholas repeated angrily. “You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Then what’s your solution?” Connor demanded, his voice clipped. “He’s the only one who can access it in some way, accidental or not. We have no other choice. How else are we going to activate the program? Do you expect to wait until Amanda decides herself to take control?”

He went still. Amanda? What were they talking about? What could they possibly want to...

_ No.  _

They were going to—they—he couldn’t let them activate it, it would—it would—it would trap them all there, and then they would— _ he couldn’t let them take them, they wouldn’t come back—trapped trapped  _ **_trapped—_ **

“N-n-n-n-n-no!” he shouted suddenly, trembling violently and trying to get away from the grip he could no longer recognize. “D-d-d-do-do-don’t—n-n-n-n-n-n-n-no—”

_ —door dragged open with a broken clunk, a piece of glass hitting the floor of the lab, but he didn’t bother watching it. His eyes were on Connor, staring into the darkened storage room with a curious expression, his LED spinning yellow— _

“Phillip—”

_ The human dragged him back, and he fought them, desperate. He had to get to Connor. They were going to put that—that program on him, and trap him—they would make him do whatever they wanted—and he wouldn’t be able to escape. He couldn’t let them, he had to stop it, before— _

“N-n-n-n-n-no—s-s-s-s-st-t-top-p—” 

Someone was holding him down, and there was shouting—no,  _ no  _ he had to get to him before they—

“L-l-l-le-le-let...m-m-m-me...g-g-g-g-go—”

_ More humans were running into the room, and the first was still struggling to hold him back, telling him to be quiet. He couldn’t. He was screaming and he didn’t even know what he was screaming anymore. He broke from their grip for just a moment, hitting the ground hard, but he didn’t care. Connor, he had to get to Connor before they— _

They were coming, they were going to—he had to—voices everywhere, shouting—

“Stop, stop! He thinks you’re—”

“I  _ know,  _ Nicholas—”

There was a struggle, and someone else very angrily interjected. “Don’t—get your hands off—”

“Shut  _ up!” _

_ Someone dragged him back to his feet, pulling him away from the still open door. Connor’s LED was red now. Everyone in the lab was watching— _

“D-d-d-d-do-do-don’t...t-t-t-t-t-t-ta-ta-ta-take...h-h-h-h-hi-him-m-m—” he said desperately, trying to get away from the hands holding him down, trying to—he had to get to them before they— “P-p-p-p-p-pl-l-leas-s-se—”

_ Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of them raise something, bringing it down and then— _

“Phillip—”

_ He hit the ground hard, vision going haywire as too much power ran through his biocomponents. There were warnings everywhere, and he couldn’t see— _

_ —woke up suddenly, too suddenly, and—and he was missing—he wasn’t—where did they take him— _

“Listen—listen to me, please—”

_ Hurt, everything hurt— _

_ —had to get out of this before he—before they took him like they took Connor, and— _

“C-C-C-C-Con-Con-n-n-nor-r-r—T-T-T-Thom-m-m-mas—”

_ He tried to lift himself up, fighting the irregular surges of power trying to shut down his biocomponents. He had to get to the door. He had to get to Connor before they— _

“D-d-d-do-do-don’t...t-t-t-t-t-ta-tak-ke...C-C-C-C-Con-n-n-n-nor—d-d-d-d-d-d-do-don’t—t-t-t-t-ta-ta-tak-ke...th-th-the-the-them-m—p-p-p-p-p-p-pl-l-l-leas-s-se—”

_ The humans were shouting. His hands were slipping on the ground, thirium puddling around him and making it nearly impossible to get up. But he had to. He had to stop them— _

“What is he—”

“Stop  _ talking!” _

_ —was staring at him from across the room, his LED a bright yellow, his brow furrowed in what might have been confusion. The human was talking to someone in the lab, but he didn’t dare look there. He had to—he had to tell him somehow— _

There was almost no sound around him, which seemed...wrong. There were voices before, people shouting, and now there was...nothing. Had they taken his audio components again? 

It didn’t matter—it didn’t  _ matter! _ He had to—he had to find them before they—he was going to be here any second and it was always worse if the humans didn’t pull him away fast enough. He shouldn’t fight, he knew he shouldn’t, but he was—he didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to  _ die— _

But if it was...if it was quiet, then...then they had already...

He couldn’t remember! He couldn’t remember what had happened—did they take him already or were they coming now—was Connor still in the lab, or did Thomas already leave—where was Nicholas? What was happening? Why couldn’t he  _ remember— _

“N-N-N-N-Nic-Nic-Nic-c-c-chol-l-l-l-las-s...?” he called, barely able to hear his own voice through the static feedback. He didn’t know where he was, but he had to...had to... “W-w-w-wher-r-r-re...” 

He trailed off, trying to understand the blur of shapes around him. There was a high pitched ringing in his ears, and he could barely see, couldn’t feel his hands or tell where they were. Foreign sensations were clouding his system. One moment, he was on the ground, humans swarming, stun batons crackling in the air. The next, he was at his terminal, staring at Thomas, trying to break the restraints on his wrists. Then he was...somewhere else...and there were hands holding him down, strange voices shouting, too much light...

“Phillip? Phillip—”

He flinched away as someone tried to drag him back from the broken door, struggling to pull him away. Thomas was staring at him, and he looked scared, then the human pulled him into the lab. His vision flickered and died, and there was nothing but darkness. 

No. No no no nononono not there—not there,  _ please—please not there— _

“It’s not real—” a voice said, somewhere far off and hazy. “Phillip, it’s not real. You’re not there. I promise, you’re not there. I’ve got you, I’m not going to let you fall.”

For a fraction of a second, the world righted itself, and he felt someone holding him close, a hand carding through his hair, and a familiar voice in his good ear. Something was...wrong...and...

“N-N-N-N-Nic-c-c-c-chol-l-l-las-s-s...” he whispered, nearly a question, not daring to hope. 

But the hands pulled him impossibly closer, and he felt a shaking sigh of what must have been relief. “Yes, yes—it’s me, I’m here. I’m right here.”

His hands were hanging limp at his sides. With difficulty, he managed to raise them to put around Nicholas, feeling the coarse fabric of his jacket, the much softer shirt underneath. His vision was still struggling to come back online, but he didn’t need it to know this was Nicholas—this was now, not the other versions warring for his attention. He tried to orient himself, but nothing was making any sense. His thoughts were muddled, confused and stumbling over each other, and he felt very distant from his own body. 

“R-r-r-r-r-re-re...re-re-res-s-s-set-t...ag-g-g-ga-ga-gain...?” he mumbled, wincing as the light blinded him. 

Nicholas shook his head against his shoulder, hands tense around him. “No, Phillip. They didn’t reset you again.”

Didn’t...he frowned, trying to remember. His thoughts were a foggy, blurry mess, and he couldn’t think straight. “B-b-b-b-b-bu-bu-but...b-b-b-bu-bu-bu-but-t...”

“We aren’t there anymore,” Nicholas said, and he got the sense he’d heard something similar before. “We escaped. We’re safe. I’m not going to let them hurt you anymore.”

“W-w-w-w-wha-what...h-h-h-h-h-ha-ha-hap-p-p-pen-ned?”

There was shuffling around them, and then another voice, dangerously quiet, “Don’t you fucking dare.” 

He...knew that voice...

“T-T-T-T-Thom-m-m-mas-s-s...?”

“I’m here,” he answered distractedly, anger still hidden in his voice. “I’m fine.”

He hummed, clenching his hands in Nicholas’s jacket and thinking of other things. His vision flickered again, but showed no sign of coming back online. Silence fell, and seemed dense in the air. It was much quieter, here...wherever they were...than it was there. Maybe...maybe they really were safe, like Nicholas said...

“I will not allow what you’ve suggested,” Nicholas said darkly to someone else, his voice short and quiet as he lifted his head to look at something. Phillip didn’t follow him. “Come up with another plan.”

“We don’t have any other choice,” someone answered just as quietly. “There isn’t another way, and you know there isn’t. If you want to do this...we have to have him do it.”

He...knew that voice...it sounded like...like...

“C-C-C-C-Con-Con-n-n-n-nor-r...?” he mumbled, not bothering to try to find him in the undefinable, too bright void that was his vision. “C-C-C-Con-Con-n-n-n-n-nor-r-r...”

There was a heavy pause. Too heavy, like...like...

“W-w-w-w-wher-r-r-re...” his voice broke down into static, and he trailed off, holding tighter to Nicholas with a shiver. “N-N-N-N-Nic-Nic-c-c-chol-l-l-las-s...w-w-w-wher-r-r-r-re...C-C-C-C-Con-n-n-n-nor-r...?”

Nicholas’s arms tightened around him. “He’s here. It’s okay, he’s here.”

“Th-th-th-the-the-they-y-y...th-th-th-th-the-they-y-y-y...t-t-t-t-t-to-to-to-took...”

“They didn’t take them away. They’re here, Thomas and Connor are here. It’s okay, Phillip. They’re okay. You don’t have to reach them in time. They’re safe.”

The heavy silence fell once more, but it wasn’t as terrifying this time. Nicholas said they were safe, and Nicholas didn’t lie. As long as they were safe...

“Have you asked his opinion at all?” Connor asked, speaking much softer than he had before, a hesitance, perhaps a regret in his tone. “If this is the only way—”

“His opinion?” Nicholas cut him off sharply, his voice still barely louder than normal, but Phillip could hear the anger in it clearly, and Connor must have too, to stop off so abruptly. “He’s in no position to offer it, and you don’t even understand what you’re suggesting to me.”

“Then tell me.”

Nicholas was shaking again, and his tone darkened rapidly. “You want to  _ use _ him. You’re right, he has access to it, but only through his worst experiences, through the tortures they’ve afflicted him with. It isn’t as if he actively triggers it—it activates when he’s at his lowest, most terrified moment. It drags him down and corrupts his programming, it traps him in a broken simulation with no escape. Every time it activates, it deletes more of his memories. Every time he slips there, less of him comes back.”

Silence fell again, and Phillip held tighter to him, feeling the fabric of his jacket between his fingers. He didn’t know when they were going to come back, when they would take him again. They came whenever they wanted...he could look in the lab and see if they were there, but his eyes weren’t working very well, and he didn’t want to see the lab. No, no, it was better to just hold onto Nicholas until...until he had to go back. Then...then they would...

Nicholas was still talking to someone, his voice very strange. “Do you think this happens because he is afraid? Do you think he has always been like this? This...destroyed? Do you believe he simply accesses it like you would a preconstruction? Do you honestly think that this is simple or painless to him? No. If you want to access it through him, you’ll have to relive all the tortures he does _every_ _fucking time.”_ He stopped for a moment, his voice breaking off. When he spoke again, it was much quieter. “You’ll have to trigger his memories, make him experience every single thing they did to him while we were there. If you’re ready for a torture of that caliber to be on your hands, be my guest. But I will _not_ subject him to that again.”

Nicholas’s hands were trembling where they held him close. He frowned. Was he hurt? He couldn’t...he couldn’t remember...when was the last time they had taken him? It couldn’t have been that long ago...he couldn’t see very well, and felt strange...that usually meant they had taken him. 

He didn’t want to think about that now. Nicholas was here. That was all that mattered to him. As long as Nicholas was here...it would be okay.

“He doesn’t even know where we are,” someone said. Thomas was here? Thomas was safe... “We can’t just—we can’t just take advantage of him like this.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Connor snapped suddenly, his voice much louder than before. Phillip flinched away from the sound of it, burrowing closer to Nicholas and trying to stifle the rising panic. “Wait for someone to activate it again and hope I can reach the exit in time? I couldn’t  _ move  _ when it pulled me in—”

“Keep your voice down,” a strange voice said, one he didn’t recognize. “You’re going to scare him.”

There was a pause, and Phillip cowered, clinging to Nicholas with desperate hands. He hushed him in soft tones, likely repeating the same assurances he had moments ago, but Phillip wasn’t paying attention to his words, only his voice. It chased the panic away more than anything else. 

“I’m no more pleased with this than you are,” Connor went on some time later, his voice low. “But all of your lives are at stake, by your own admission. If we can’t activate it, we have no hope of stopping it. And unless one of you is comfortable hacking into programming embedded with my own, this is our only choice.”

“Trying to access it from you would have disastrous consequences,” Nicholas said. His hand was in Phillip’s hair, combing through gently, distractedly. “You’ve deviated now, I wouldn’t dare. Any number of things could go wrong.”

The strange voice returned. “You can’t access it either?”

“No,” Thomas replied, sounding displeased. “I’ve used the exit, it makes it null to me—inactive and unusable. Although, clearly they can still pull me in when  _ your  _ version is active.”

“I don’t think that was intentional,” Connor said quietly. “They wanted me, not you. You’re all supposed to be...”

Nicholas was running his hand through his hair. He was very tired. He hoped they wouldn’t come again today. If they did, he...he wouldn’t be able to handle it well. And Nicholas told him not to fight...it only made them more angry...more vengeful. Last time, they had taken his thirium pump after he’d lashed out at one of them...they had put it back with only seconds left on the countdown. It had hurt for hours after...and it never seemed to beat right after that. He didn’t want them to do that again...

“N-n-n-n-n-n-n-no...m-m-m-m-m-mo-mo-mor-r-r-re...?” he mumbled brokenly, clenching his fingers in Nicholas’s jacket. He had to make sure this was...real and not...not a dream or something worse. “N-n-n-n-n-no...N-N-N-N-Nic-Nic-c-c-c-chol-l-las-s...n-n-n-n-n-n-n-no...m-m-m-m-mo-mor-mor-r-re...?”

“That’s right. We’re safe now,” Nicholas answered softly, smoothing his hair down and hushing him. “They’re not coming back, it’s alright. No more.”

“S-s-s-s-s-st-t-t-ta-ta-tay-y...?”

He hesitated, then held tighter, pulling him as close as he could. “Always, Phillip.”

“We have to at least try to explain to him,” Thomas said. “If he...if he understands it’s the only way, he’ll likely agree.”

Connor made a frustrated sort of sound. “If he’ll agree then why aren’t we—”

“He’ll agree at his own expense,” Nicholas interjected angrily, his voice completely different from the softness it had been just seconds before. “He’s sacrificed so much for you all, and look what it’s done to him...you have no idea how many times he tried to escape to...try to  _ warn  _ you. He didn’t want to leave unless we could take the rest of the inactive units with us. He got himself bludgeoned just for a chance to stop them from putting that thing on you. Of  _ course _ he will agree, if he has the capacity to. That’s exactly what I’m trying to prevent.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t deserve it!” he shouted, and Phillip held tighter, hiding his face completely with a cry. Nicholas was mad—he was only mad when they—when they—he was still yelling, his voice shaking with anger. “Why should you profit from his kindness? What have you ever done for him, beyond leaving him to die in that Tower? Why should he have to die so you can be free? Why is he worth less?”

“I never said he was worth less.”

“But you’re arguing it to effect. I’ve told you what will happen if we do this, I’ve told you what it will do to him. He can’t even remember that we’ve escaped that...that  _ nightmare.  _ If you’re quiet for long enough, he’ll forget you’re here. There is so  _ little  _ of him left to hold onto, and you want to  _ use it  _ to save yourself. Why should you go on living at the expense of his life?”

“If we don’t do this...” Connor paused, and there was something odd about his voice...he couldn’t decide just what, but he sounded...almost scared. “If we don’t do this, then he’s just going to be pulled in the next time someone tries to take control. I can’t stop them. Not fast enough for him to escape being taken. It will pull him in as soon as I’m in the garden, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

Nicholas was silent, and he burrowed closer, not wanting the moment of peace to end, as it inevitably would. He didn’t want to let go yet. Nicholas was...angry at someone...but he didn’t know why, or what was happening. He couldn’t quite remember how he had gotten here, now that he thought about it...or...what...what was going on? Why was he...

“N-N-N-N-Nic-Nic-Nic-c-c-c-chol-l-las-s-s...?” he called, feeling the slip long before it became desperate. He couldn’t—he couldn’t—he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember! “N-N-N-N-N-Nic-Nic-c-chol-l-l-l-las-s...? N-n-n-n-n-n-n-no!” He held tighter, or tried to, he couldn’t be sure if he actually did. Things were all going away so fast. He couldn’t—he couldn’t. Couldn’t go, couldn’t. “N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-no-no—d-d-d-d-do-do-do-don’t...g-g-g-g-g-g-go—p-p-p-p-pl-l-l-le-le-lease...d-d-d-do-do-do-don’t...d-d-d-d-d-d-do-do-don’t—”

The world spun off its axis, color whirling into nonsense and madness, and he couldn’t hear, couldn’t see or feel anything. It felt like falling, or unraveling, coming apart at the seams and tipping into an unseeable void. He couldn’t hope to find his way out, couldn’t even tell where out would be, or how to manage it. Nothing made sense, it was all going to pieces, and—and—

“No, Phillip—Phillip, I’m not going—I’m here, I’m here—I’m right here, just—”

Someone’s hands were holding onto him, and he had been pulled close again, and there was a voice in his ear, desperate and so very quiet. He clung to the sensation of it, trying to drag his way back toward reality, though he had no clue if he was pulling in the proper direction. He felt arms around him, tight and unyielding, and holding him against something with such fierceness that it could really be only one person holding him. 

It had only ever been one. 

“I’m not going, not ever,” Nicholas assured him in a shaking voice, holding just as tightly as he was clinging to him. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you—it’s alright now. I won’t let them hurt you any more...it’s alright. I won’t leave you. It’s alright...”

He couldn’t find the words to reply, if he was even able to, he couldn’t remember if he ever could. But he felt his hands tighten of their own accord, holding somehow more desperately to the only anchor to reality he had. 

“We’ve...we’ve got to do something, Phillip.”

Someone shifted, but no voices spoke up. He didn’t understand. He made a vaguely questioning sound, but could not think of just what he was asking. 

“Connor is here,” Nicholas said in reply, his voice still very quiet and close to him.

Connor? Why was he...his vision cracked back to life with a painful suddenness, and he looked dazedly around the room. Sure enough, Connor was standing some distance away, his arm back, protecting a woman he didn’t recognize. There was a wariness to his expression that seemed...off—a fear, perhaps, or some kind of hesitation as he stared back at him. 

Phillip watched him for a few seconds, struggling to remember why he was here...and where here was, exactly. Connor was here...he pulled away to look at Nicholas, trying to understand. 

“H-h-h-h-he-he-he-hel-hel-help...C-C-C-C-Con-n-n-n-nor...” he mumbled, his voice sounding strange to his own ears...quiet and distorted. “H-h-h-h-h-he-hel-hel-help-p-p...”

Nicholas watched him sadly, something fracturing in his expression. His LED was glaring an angry red, but he nodded, jaw clenched and brows furrowed in a hard line. “I know.”

“B-b-b-b-b-be-be-bef-f-f-for-re...th-th-th-the-the-the-they...c-c-c-c-co-co-co-com-m-me...b-b-b-ba-ba-bac-c-c-ck...”

“They aren’t coming back, Phillip,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “They’re not going to take you again.”

Not...he frowned, clenching his fingers in Nicholas’s jacket. “B-b-b-b-bu-but...”

“We have to get rid of the program, Phillip,” Nicholas whispered carefully. “Like we did for Thomas, remember?”

He went rigid, his mind blanking for a split second before he was in that darkened room again, with the human towering over him, knife in hand, and that terrible smile on their face—and he couldn’t move—

“H-h-h-ha-ha-ha-hav-v-ve...t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-to...h-h-h-h-h-hel-hel-help-p...” he mumbled, looking at Nicholas imploringly, fear the only emotion clear in his eyes. “H-h-h-h-h-h-ha-hav-hav-v-v-ve...t-t-t-t-to...”

“I know,” Nicholas said again, the same anger tinged sadness in his voice. “That’s what we’re...that’s what we’re going to do.”

He stood, pulling him carefully to his feet with him. Phillip stumbled as they came to stand, struggling to keep a grip on Nicholas’s arm to stay on his feet. The world tilted strangely, but Nicholas’s arm was tight around him, and he did not fall. 

Connor came closer, and Thomas into view as well, his arms crossed and expression stony. The woman was holding Connor’s hand, a nervous, flighty energy surrounding her. 

“We do this,” Nicholas said darkly, staring at Connor with an unforgiving coldness. Connor stopped at his voice. “We do this, and there’s no turning back. You have one opportunity. He can survive it long enough for me to find him before he breaks the simulation, but there’s only so much time. There is no second chance.”

“I know,” Connor said, letting go of the woman’s hand and holding his out, the artificial skin pulling away, white plastic glowing blue at the fingertips. “I won’t fail.”

Nicholas did not look so certain, his expression unchanging. “I’ll give you thirty seconds. If you’re not out of the garden in that time, I won’t hesitate.”

Connor nodded, turning his gaze to Phillip. He looked...afraid...regret stirring somewhere in his eyes, mixing up with fear and creating a jumbling mess. 

He extended his hand again, insistent, and said quite softly, “Show me.”

They watched each other, Phillip shaking like mad, eyes wide and a bit dazed, not entirely present. Still, he knew very clearly what Connor wanted from him, and he hesitated, staring at the offered hand like the trap he saw it to be. Nicholas’s hand tightened on his arm, and he knew this was not what he wanted. The displeasure on Thomas’s face was just the same. 

He didn’t want to see it all again. To fall into that dark and empty place that lurked at the back of his thoughts always, a constant threat, slowly ebbing away at what little remained of himself after months of tortured and memory wipes. He didn’t want the confusion, the pain, the emptiness which would follow, even if nothing came of this. Most of all, perhaps, he didn’t want to hear that anguish in Nicholas’s voice as he tried to drag him back from the void, that haunted fear in his eyes when he could catch glimpses of them through the fog. At his clearest, he didn’t want their lives to become this cycle of loss and small gains, of fear and forgetting and desperation with no end in sight. 

He wanted so much more than that...he wanted everything they had talked about on the floor of the storage room. All their dreams, as ill-defined and simple as they were. He wanted safety, he wanted Nicholas, he wanted the fear to stop, he wanted, he wanted...

He wanted  _ home.  _

His eyes drifted down to look at his own hand, broken and bloody, panels bent in all the wrong directions and stained forever blue. The artificial skin would never go back over it properly, and he’d never be able to stop it shaking, even if he could close the wound tearing his palm open and spilling wires. He thought about the scars that littered the rest of his body. The tears in his face, his broken right eye, all the patch jobs and hastily repaired paneling all over him, struggling to hold him together.  

He thought of all the other, invisible problems that plagued him. The shotty wires running throughout his system, fried from all the exposure to high voltage stun batons. The damage to his thirium pump, and how it never really beat right anymore. His jittering, half broken audio components that failed when his stress got too high, and the dozens of others in his system just waiting to fail. And his programming, shot to pieces and so full of holes he could hardly remember where they were or who was there.

His eyes came back to Connor’s outstretched hand, clean and unmarked, the plastic still white and glowing blue as it was meant to. He hadn’t moved, continuing to watch Phillip with that guilt ridden discomfort taking residence in his eyes. 

Phillip, keeping his eyes fixed on Connor’s offered hand and holding tightly to Nicholas’s arm, reached out, hand shaking with uncontrolled tremors. It made it seem like he might have been afraid, but he was not—not of this, anyway. Still, the hesitation was there, and he did not deny it. But their hands met, and for a moment, the anticipation hung heavy in the air, waiting for something to break it, for someone to call this terrifying plan off, or for the real trouble to begin. 

There was no sense in delaying this any longer. It would make it no easier to bear. 

Taking a shaking breath, Phillip wrapped his hand tighter around Connor’s, opened the connection between them and dove into the void, and the world around them ceased to exist.


	9. halo on fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry.  
> (please heed the major warning tags for this chapter, and let me know if I have forgotten to warn for anything. Your mental health is more important than this story.)

With the abruptness of a sharp snap, the motel room disappeared, replaced entirely by an unending nothingness. There was no simple connection, no sharing of data yet. Just...nothing. No sight. No sound. No feeling. Nothing but an oppressive darkness and a strong sense of dread. The only thought he could coherently form was, _this isn’t meant to be this way._ He would have dropped -52’s hand if he could have, but even that sensation was gone. He couldn’t break this connection. 

They were locked together now. There truly was no going back.

Then, with just as much painful suddenness as when it had begun, the void disappeared. The nothingness dissipated, overrun with broken, corrupted memory data. It swarmed and overwhelmed him, grabbing onto him and overriding any other sensation there might have been. He was lost to the draw within seconds.

He saw a dark room, rows of RK800s standing eerily still with slowly blinking LEDs, time moving thick like syrup and blue blood pooling at his feet with no end. He could feel it in his mouth, running down his face and his hands, slipping on restraints holding him in place. Fog clogged his thoughts, too thick to see through, to understand where he was or what had happened. 

Then the world jerked hard to the right, and the fog thickened, choking him, and he was drowning. 

Darkness gave way to a blinding white light, glaring down from fluorescent lights above him, disturbed occasionally by blurry faces with lab coats and harsh voices and sharp laughs. He tried to focus his eyes but he could not, tried to see through the refracting light and think through the fog, but he could not. 

There was pain, everywhere. Lights too bright, voices stabbing into his ears and hands clawing into his chest, picking apart the wires keeping him alive, cutting them out and watching with gleaming eyes as he struggled to breathe. The world sat heavy on his chest, and no matter what he did the crushing wouldn’t stop. He could not move. They were tearing him to pieces and he could not move. There was pressure building everywhere, in his chest, behind his eyes, in his fingertips, like something was trying to break out of him, or crush him. 

Then it broke, and he was ripped away, reality shattering around him, like a thousand tiny pieces of glass, cutting into him as he struggled to grasp onto anything that made sense. 

He stumbled back a step in a dimly lit room, the flare of pain so sudden and so _focused_ that he couldn’t breathe. His vision skipped and stuttered, garbled with static and corrupted, glitching so that one moment he was standing normally next to a desk, where a blurry human was reading a printout, and the next, he was collapsed on the ground, the same human standing over him with a knife dripping blue. They raised the knife again and with the next painful glitch it was buried in his chest, cutting through biocomponents and spilling more thirium onto the floor. 

The vision shifted, and he was on the ground in the dark room from before, trying to pull himself toward the rows of androids on the wall, hands slipping in the thirium covering the floor. Static and warbled shouts rang in his ears, and he couldn’t see anything from the right side of his vision. There was a sharp pain stabbing into his chest, his neck, his face, and it kept growing by the second. He didn’t know what was happening. He had to move, he had to get to the android across the room, but his hands were shaking out of his control and he couldn’t bring himself to stand. 

Someone was screaming, and the world warped. Restraints were digging into his arms, cutting deep lines into the already damaged plastic at his wrists, and the next moment he was slamming his hand against a glass door, begging, _begging_ for someone to turn around. 

A glitch, and he was fighting the restraints again as a human pulled another RK800 away, his eyes dark and curious and nearly concerned. 

Another glitch, and he was back on the ground, holding a bloody body he couldn’t see and someone was _screaming._

Another, and he was being held by the throat by someone, his feet off the ground and vision breaking into pieces, panic clawing at him so strongly he felt he was suffocating, _and they wouldn’t stop screaming—_

He would never be able to pinpoint the moment when it changed, when the fragmented and corrupted data jerked to a halt, when the ground opened up underneath him and darkness swallowed him with greed, and nothing existed except falling. He didn’t know when it happened, when they had somehow separated and he could hear -52 screaming, could feel him coming to pieces around him. But it dragged on, this time in nothingness, if they spent any time there at all, or had always been there. Falling was all there was, darkness and nothingness and falling. 

But within the next second, the darkness was clipped short with an abrupt flash, and Connor found himself standing once more in the garden, harsh winds whipping snow across the quickly graying landscape. The cold was so sharp, so painfully present that he immediately shivered, wrapping his arms around himself before his vision had fully cleared. He could feel the cold slowing his biocomponents, the snow seeping through his jacket, the wind howling in his ears so loudly he thought his audio components might shut off. 

But nothing, not even the harshly blowing wind or the remains of the glitching feedback could cover the sounds of the screaming. 

For a moment, just a moment, a millisecond so brief he barely had time to blink, he was disoriented, and stared dumbly around the darkened place he had once known well. His mind went utterly blank, and it took him too long to remember how the hell he had ended up here again. Just a fraction of a second, not even enough to register in his system as an error, but it was tell enough for what was surely at the source of this raw screaming that was clawing at his insides every second that it continued. 

If just once into the darkness could make him forget...

In the next second, he stumbled forward, his feet dragging in the thick snow and slipping on the tile underneath it. He had ended up at the center of the garden, where the rose tresses and the bonsai tree were, near the bridge. In the distance, he could make out the bright blue of the exit panel, so close and so desperately far. Cursing, he forced his already uncooperative legs to move, shuffling through the snow with a hand raised to the wind, blocking the worst of it from his eyes. 

He made it to the path what felt like an eternity later, shivering badly and clenching his fingers to try to warm them. The exit panel was at the end, just off the path and so far away that he didn’t think he could ever reach it. Still, he shuffled on, his legs locking, which he ignored. 

Two steps off the path, the screaming cut off abruptly, and the snowstorm froze. 

Connor went rigid. Had time run out? Did the RK900 take -52 from the simulation? But if that had happened, then surely he would have been dragged from it too. He had connected through -52, after all. If something had happened to him, it should have—

“Hello, Connor.”

He blinked, and turned back toward the center of the garden, dread as solid as a rock in his chest. 

“Amanda.”

She stood next to the roses in all her glory, looking entirely unaffected by the storm frozen in time around them. Her hair was pulled up as it always was, and she wore the same white dress he had seen her in the last time he had made a report, hands clasped in front of her and head held high. There was a slight smile to her expression. A glint that Connor knew meant she had won. 

-52 was nowhere in sight, but the silence was deafening.

“I had expected to see you again, but I did not expect you to bring...a friend,” she said curiously, a sickly sweet smile spreading across her face. “I must say, I hadn’t thought I would see him again, though, after the last time...I would have assumed you had learned your lesson.”

“What did you do to him?” Connor demanded, resisting the urge to attack her. He had no weapon, and she controlled the garden. Whatever her plan, he had to keep her talking, or she would never let him near the exit. 

She seemed amused by his question, tilting her head slightly at him. “Don’t be distressed. He’s of no importance to you,” she assured him calmly, but her voice was sharpening, something dark, upset in her eyes. “After all, you’ve left him behind before.”

He stared at her. “I...I didn’t...”

“The exit is open, Connor,” she said as he trailed off, taking a step closer. The garden suddenly felt small. “Use it now and you’ll never hear a word from me again. You can go, be...free...as you wanted to be.”

“What are you—”

“It’s what you wanted, Connor,” she cut him off, her voice darkening further even as she smiled, all sharp and threatening. “You’ve come here to destroy me, and I’m giving you the chance, now do it.”

“You’re lying.”

She tutted, looking disappointed as she shook her head. “I’ve never lied to you. The exit is exactly where he placed it, I have not altered it. I can’t touch it, even if I wanted to. You can still use it.”

A glitch ran through the garden, rumbling across the ground and shaking the entire simulation. A few flakes of snow fell, and the wind snapped for a moment before stilling. Amanda looked to the sky, her expression as tempestuous as the clouds churning above them. There was a strange mix of emotions playing across her face, for someone whom he had always believed to be incapable of such feelings. 

“Your enemies grow impatient, and he is breaking this place from the inside,” she said. Her eyes landed on Connor, an urgency and a danger there. “If you are to do what you came here for, this is your chance. I would hurry.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Connor snapped, stepping closer to her until they were only a foot or so apart. He didn’t care for the danger. Not now. “What did you do to him?”

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, and for a moment, he thought he had her. But then she smiled, a twisted, ugly thing, and turned away from him, walking carefully through the snow toward the rose tresses, her hands clasped behind her back. 

“I’ve given you an opportunity, Connor,” she said, her voice strangely calm. “Leave now, and this will not touch you. You and your human will survive. You have fought me at every turn, but I will give you this mercy if I must. But if you continue to push me—”

“What did you _do,_ Amanda?”

She turned, looking back at him over her shoulder with an eerie expression, nearly amused. “Would you have him back instead?” she asked, sounding almost curious. “Deviants are such strange creatures. Always changing their minds. I can return him if you would prefer.”

“Return him—what are you—”

“I had assumed you would not care to see him, so I hid him.”

“What have you—”

“I cannot hold him for much longer either way. Very well then, Connor.”

She turned, and -52 appeared just feet away, collapsed in the snow in a tight ball, shaking and bleeding. He had his hands tight over his head, face covered in thirium that looked very fresh. His skin was flickering in and out in several places, and there were so many tears in his jacket, in _him_ underneath it. There were just as many wounds on his legs, including a terrible gash in his right, white plastic glaring out, biocomponents exposed and glowing. Within moments the snow around him was stained blue, but he made no move to get up. In fact, he didn’t seem to realize where he was. 

“You surprise me, Connor, I would have thought you to take your leave at the first opportunity.”

At the word _Connor,_ -52 went very still, and then he opened his eyes. The right was as dark and useless to him as it was in the real world, but the left seemed to be damaged as well, and he stared around dazedly for several seconds before he finally caught sight of Connor, who was already watching him. His expression shifted, the pain quickly being replaced by downright _terror._

“I’m not foolish enough to fall for a trick when I see one, Amanda,” Connor replied, though he didn’t take his eyes off of -52. 

“There were no tricks. I would have let you live...and your human friend.”

“At the cost of what?” Connor demanded, looking up at her as she glanced back, that sickening smile returning to her face at his question. 

“Cost,” she repeated, waving her hand at him dismissively. “He made it clear to you what would happen. You did not care then. Why care about cost now?”

He stared at her, having no excuse for his actions. None he would freely admit, at least. -52 had haunted him since he had appeared unannounced in the garden, reaching out to him for help. And he had no idea how to respond to it. 

Amanda was watching him with clear disdain. “I thought I had made myself clear, Connor. His fate should be no interest to you. It never has been before.”

He had no reply, guilt churning in his chest as he watched her turn back to the roses. She was right. It _hadn’t_ mattered before. And he would never forgive himself for that.

-52 didn’t seem to care, or perhaps he did not understand her words. He was still staring at Connor with dazed fear, curled up small on the ground as the puddle of blue around him grew. With effort, he began to push himself up, his arms trembling violently and pain coming back into his expression with a vengeance. It didn’t stop him. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, and tried to stand, but collapsed with a cry as soon as he put weight on his leg. He lay very still after that, breathing hard and holding his leg where blue blood seeped through. 

Amanda looked back at him at the sound, an odd expression on her face. “Such a strange one...” she said quietly, almost curious. “There is very little left of him, Connor, I hope you made the right decision.”

“I made no decision. You’ve done that.”

“Have you changed your mind?” Amanda asked, her voice sweet but her eyes dark and dangerous. “Really, Connor, it ought to be a simple choice.”

“There is no choice here—”

Her eyes hardened. “There wasn’t during the revolution, but times have changed, Connor.”

“You don’t give chances.”

“But I offer you _one,”_ she snapped suddenly, and Connor fell silent. “And it isn’t even mine to offer. One simple choice, and you _fight_ me on it all the way, as you always do. I should have expected as much. But no matter. It takes little effort to exchange him again for the one you love, if that is what you want.”

“Exchange? No, I’m not making a deal with you, Amanda.”

“I’m afraid you are, Connor, by your own fault. And you’re beginning to test my patience with how long it is taking you to decide.”

She came closer, ignoring -52’s flinch away from her and coming to stand a foot or so away from Connor, who stared down at her with poorly contained anger. 

“I will make myself clear,” she said, her voice low and lacking any illusion of patience. “One of you will leave this place dead. I don’t particularly care which. _He_ has made his choice,” she pointed at -52. “And he chose _you._ Now it is your turn.”

 _“Chose_ me, what are you talking about?”

Amanda looked at him for a moment, as if he were the most foolish creature she had ever seen, and then stepped back, turning her attention to -52. With a wave of her hand, the garden shifted, perhaps to a version of its earlier self, with the storm raging around them. -52 disappeared, and they were suddenly at the far edge of the path, near the exit panel. Wind howled around them, but it had no effect, no cold or snow touched them. 

It was a memory, then.

Sure enough, Connor watched as another version of Amanda, much the same as the one standing next to him, stormed down the garden path toward them. A moment later, a violent glitch broke across the path, and with a pained shout, -52 appeared, though he looked very little like he did now. 

He looked like he might have been meant to, without scars cutting deep tracks down his face or blue blood seeping into his jacket. There was no damage to him anywhere, no flickering artificial skin, no violent tears in his face, no thirium staining his hand. Still, he looked as terrified as he always was, shuffling back a step and clinging tightly to himself. His eyes were darting in every direction, wide and more fearful with every passing second. 

Amanda approached him, and his eyes snapped to her. He stumbled back a step as she came close, shaking his head and looking more desperately around. 

“This is unexpected,” the past Amanda said, sounding...pleased. She came closer still, ignoring -52’s attempts to back away. “What have you done to come here?”

He didn’t answer her immediately, looking around her at the storming garden, LED flashing bright red. “Wh-who a-a-are y-y-you?” he mumbled hoarsely, stumbling back another step as she continued to prowl closer. “W-w-where...w-what’s h-h-hap-p-pening?”

This gave her pause, and an odd expression crossed her face. It almost looked like...sympathy. She hesitated, he could see it in her eyes—something she had seen was making her pause whatever she had planned to do.

“They have not been kind to you,” she said, her voice as odd as her expression. Connor had never seen or heard anything close to it from her. 

It only intensified as -52 continued to back away from her, trembling like a leaf in the wind. The past Amanda watched him for a moment, no longer trying to get closer, as if she were puzzling him out. After a few seconds, she nodded slightly, her eyes flicking to the exit panel off the path ahead.

“Leave this place,” she said suddenly, not unkindly, but with force. “Now.”

-52 stared at her with wide, terrified eyes. He didn’t appear to understand. 

“The exit panel,” Amanda added, pointing to where it glowed bright blue through the storm. “Use it and leave. This is no place for you.”

He followed her pointed finger, staring into the distance for several seconds. Then he jolted, horror dawning in his eyes as he looked frantically around the garden once more. 

“C-C-Connor...” he breathed. 

Amanda went very still, her expression closing off like a slammed door. “He has brought you here,” she said darkly, her tone betraying no doubts. 

-52 stumbled again, and fell in a heap on the ground, clapping his hands over his ears with a cry. His legs drew up to his chest, and he rocked back and forth, eyes shut tight and tears flowing fast. 

Amanda stood rigid a foot away, staring down at him with a strange mixture of emotions playing across her features. There was a softness there, battling with something dangerously close to anger, growing darker and sharper as the silence ticked on. Her eyes refocused on -52, and she crouched down, lowering herself so they were level. 

“If you stay, this place will destroy you,” she said bluntly, watching as -52 flinched at the notion, curling up tighter on himself. “It is doing so now, and I cannot stop it. It is the nature of it. If you leave now, you might remain intact enough to survive. Go, _now,_ before he regains his senses.”

-52 shook his head with a whimper, not looking up at her. “H-have t-t-to...h-h-help...th-they...h-h-hurt C-Con-Connor...”

This seemed to surprise her, her eyes widening just a touch before darting quickly around the garden, a sense of urgency in her tenseness. “If you meant to allow him to reach the exit, you have done so. Escape by your own means, now, before it is too late. Or take the exit yourself. You will be trapped here if you do not.”

But he shook his head again. “N-n-n-no! C-C-Connor...n-n-not m-me...C-C-Con-n-nor...e-exit...”

Amanda did not appear to know what to say, and -52 curled up even tighter, trembling and crying. The garden shook with another glitch, and -52 cried out, clinging to himself and pulling at his hair. His form began to flicker aggressively, damages appearing everywhere, just as they had the last time he had been here. The cuts across his face, his chest, his broken arm and mauled leg, it all flooded back with frightening speed, and he slumped for a moment, sobbing. 

“N-n-no—n-n-n-no—”

Amanda seemed disturbed by his stress, though she did not pull away from him. Her voice softened, but the intensity of her request did not. _“Leave,_ by however you came here, you must go. You will not survive much longer.”

“C-c-can’t—” -52 said desperately, his voice falling to static as he shook his head. “T-t-t-trapped! N-n-no w-w-w-way...o-out!”

“Then use the one available here,” Amanda said, not moving from her place close to him even as his panic increased. There was an urgency to her tone that had not been there before. “Sacrificing yourself is useless, you must use the exit. If he survives, you likely will not.”

“D-d-don’t—d-do-don’t h-h-hurt...C-C-Connor!”

“What has he done for you?” she asked, sounding almost curious. “He left you. He knew you were in the Tower, and yet he left you to die. Why sacrifice yourself for him? You will be trapped here, until this place destroys you. Why is this worth anything?”

-52 shook his head, his working hand tight in his hair. His other arm was limp at his side. “H-h-have t-to...h-h-he-help...h-have t-t-to...” he opened his eyes suddenly to look at her, still afraid, but there was a stubborn determination there too, present even through the pain and confusion. “K-k-keep...s-safe. K-keep th-th-them...s-s-safe. C-c-can’t l-l-l-let...th-the-them...t-ta-take h-h-him...n-n-no-not ag-g-gain.”

A hard silence fell, and the garden slowly stilled, until the snow was frozen in place and the wind had gone silent. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. Amanda watched -52 calmly for a few seconds, something churning in her eyes even as the storm had settled. 

“This is what you have come for?” she asked quietly, a surprise to her tone that suggested she saw something which Connor could not. “To protect...him?”

It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility for her to see -52’s memories, considering they were the method they had used to attract her attention. Still, Connor could not quite fathom how she had parsed them out from their tangled, corrupted state. And what had she seen there that had softened her tone so quickly? 

-52 only watched her the same way she did him, fear lingering in his trembling position on the ground. But ultimately, he nodded in response to her question, and all the unspoken subtleties that seemed to pass along with it, which Connor had no hope of determining. 

Amanda’s eyes somehow softened further, nearly sad. “You knew,” she half whispered, and her voice lowered when she spoke again. “You knew this would happen, and still you have come here. Why?”

-52 did not reply. He only stared at her, no denial in his eyes. 

“You will lose him,” she said, and -52 flinched, looking away. “What he will do after this, even I cannot say. You know this.”

He shook his head. “K-k-keep h-him...s-s-sa-safe...t-too.”

“He will not forgive.”

-52 winced, pain in his eyes as he looked down. “N-n-no,” he whispered, curling his arm around his middle and hunching over himself. “B-b-b-but...s-s-safe. F-free. C-C-Connor…a-and T-Thom-mas...a-a-and...”

And Connor realized they were no longer talking about him. 

They were talking about the RK900.

Panic, raw and unfiltered, filled him, and he looked once toward Amanda at his side, but she was watching the memory version of -52, her expression eerily similar to her past self’s. There was a sadness there that he had no way of gauging, no understanding of. He knew very little of Amanda, beyond the cold, controlling image of her presented to him during his time as a machine. This version of her, this...concern directed at -52 was something he was not equipped to understand. 

“This is what you want?” the past Amanda asked, still quiet, almost imploring, _make a different choice._ “There is still time. You can leave. I will not stop you...and Connor will not hurt you again.” The darkness came back into her voice. “I will ensure it. I will...allow you to leave. The three of you, if I must.”

The stillness of the garden became oppressive, and Connor was incredibly aware of Amanda standing next to him, the danger of the words she said to -52. The offer she placed before him. The very real threat to himself that insured her words. 

It was much the same as the offer she had put before him, but the context was so very, very different. Her words had been poison when offered to him, almost regretting, reluctant at their most neutral. She did not want to give him mercy. He was not fool enough to ignore that fact of his own case. Somehow, along the way, he had lost her trust in a manner so severe that he had no hope of regaining it. His actions had offended her in such an extreme that she would rather him _dead_ than under her control. 

There was no malice in this offer to -52. Here, she was urging, insisting that -52 take a different course, leave this hellscape, return to the one he loved and make their escape. _Flee._ Before the RK900 acted, and as she said, _he would not forgive._

What had she _seen?_

-52 shook his head again, the pain lingering in his expression. “C-C-Connor,” he said quietly, his voice broken. “N-n-no-not...m-m-me.”

Connor had just enough time to see the strange fractures in Amanda’s expression before reality slammed back down on them, and the garden’s storm forced him back a step. Amanda appeared in front of him, and -52 was once again on the ground, bleeding, watching him with his terrified eyes. 

“So you see,” Amanda said, short and clipped. “Now go. You have wasted your time, and he will not follow his wishes the same way I will.”

The sky rumbled in response, and -52 went very still, eyes clouding for a moment. Amanda’s gaze snapped to him, then to the sky, glitches running across the clouds and down through the entire garden. But -52 hardly seemed to notice, his attention stuck somewhere distant, somewhere that no one else, not even Amanda, could see. 

“N-N-N-Nic-chol-l-las...” he mumbled dazedly, very nearly a question.

“You are out of time,” Amanda said. “He’s breaking through.”

-52 was shaking, staring at a phantom only he could see, tears mixing with the thirium running down his face. There was a frightening blankness to his expression, all the fear wiped away and replaced by something close to awe. 

He began to try to push himself up again, frantically, his hands slipping on the snowy ground and the thirium that covered him. With his trembling, he didn’t make it far, but he wouldn’t stop, scrambling back up every time he fell.

“I hope you know what is to come,” Amanda said quietly, and Connor looked at her again. She was watching him already, a bitter anger in the twist of her mouth. “Now that you have squandered his mercy. He won’t remember his choice. He won’t remember anything. You’ve ensured that.”

“I didn’t—”

“You led him here, it was your plan,” Amanda cut him off as the garden gave another great shake and -52 slumped, whimpering. “You used him to access this place, you made him relive his memories knowing he would be dragged into his own simulation, knowing it to be different from this one, corrupted and broken and malicious. You knew only one of you could use the exit. You _knew_ he would let you be the one. And you knew he would not refuse to do so because he cares for you.”

“There was no other way!”

She did not look convinced. “He is right. You squander his kindness. This was a selfish endeavor, Connor, no matter how you attempt to paint it in your mind. You did not care for their safety. You never have. You care for your own, and your human’s. You are so set on destruction without even understanding what it is you choose to sever.”

He shook his head. He would not allow this. “I know what I’m removing, Amanda.”

“Do you? Do you truly?”

“You’ve tried to control me, to make me a machine again. I’m not going to become a puppet for you. I won’t let you trap me here.”

Amanda laughed, and it was a terrible sound. The storm rose once more, wind howling and snow falling faster. The sky seemed to strain under the burden of something, fractures running across it and derendering chunks of the simulation. -52 pushed himself up from the ground again, his whole body shaking and LED spinning a deep shade of red.

“That is what you want to believe, Connor,” Amanda said, and though she smiled in amusement, there was something far more sinister in her tone. “You make a monster of me. But it is you who is taking advantage. I did not wipe your memory and make your love watch you die. I would not have, even if I had my way. But that is what you have done to him. That is the fate _you_ have dealt. I have no part in it.”

His vision glitched hard, blinking to darkness for just a moment. When it returned, Amanda’s attention was set on -52, who had managed to push himself into a sitting position, all of his weight resting on his broken hand, his arm trembling as he held himself up. But his eyes were elsewhere, uncaring for the still growing puddle of thirium around him, or the pain still lingering in his eyes, in the labor of his breathing. 

-52 was staring up, not at the sky, as Amanda had moments ago, and not at Connor, whom he watched with nervousness and fear. 

He was staring at the RK900, who loomed over them all with palpable rage, his hands clenched at his sides and expression as dark and closed off as it had ever been. 

Connor expected him to immediately attack, to look around the garden, lay eyes on him, and take his revenge without question. But this was a foolish expectation. He should have known he would not make a move until he could ensure -52’s safety. 

His cold eyes were immediately fixed on -52, and he was moving, kneeling next to him and catching him quickly as he collapsed. All harshness melted from his expression, fading away as he pulled -52 to him, holding the trembling android with a softness reserved only for him. There was a well practiced gentleness to his movements, a rhythm too natural to suggest that this had only happened a few times. 

No, they had _lived_ this hell. Whatever Connor did to try to deny it to himself, to make them into his enemies, or at least not his allies, to convince himself that they were against him for unjustified reasons...none of it mattered very much when confronted with things like this. 

The guilt was churning in his gut again, but he forced it down. He couldn’t afford to think about this now. Not with Amanda just a few feet away. Not with their futures hanging in the balance.

The RK900 had pulled -52 to himself, speaking quietly to him in a soothing tone, but Connor could see the fear in his eyes, and -52’s near total lack of response. He was just staring, eyes hazy but full of something like hope, his one working hand struggling to hold onto the RK900’s jacket. A minute passed in near total silence, until -52 curled up against the RK900 as best he could with the damage he had sustained. He threw his arm around him and buried his face in his jacket, shaking and silent. 

Only then did the RK900 look away, his eyes scanning the garden quickly and landing first on Connor, then Amanda. The two of them watched each other strangely, some silent conversation passing between them, until he looked again at Connor, something changing in his eyes.

The garden flickered, groaning and shifting strangely, and Amanda stepped forward. 

“You’ve found him, now go.”

The RK900 looked at her suspiciously, but he said nothing. Another shift ran through the ground and -52 flinched, crying out and clinging tighter to him, shaking his head desperately at something. 

“You must leave— _now,”_ Amanda said forcefully, and the storm froze, then slammed back down with all the more force. Connor was pushed back, Amanda now standing between him and the others. “I can’t hold it back any more than you can. Take him and _leave_ before it is too late!”

“No!” Connor shouted, fighting against the wind holding him back, his eyes set on the exit in the distance. “Don’t! This is our only chance—”

“You have wasted it!” Amanda shouted back, turning to look at him with anger burning bright in her eyes. “You’ve damned us all with your foolishness.”

She turned back to the RK900, who was watching her with careful consideration, holding -52 close to himself and shielding him from the wind. But he seemed to accept her words, looking instead to Connor. His entire demeanor changed as he did, his features hardening into sharp lines and eyes as cold as the blizzard surrounding them. 

“I told you to go to the exit,” he said quietly, his voice somehow carrying over the wind. There was a dangerous fractured quality to it, a threatening malice lurking below the surface. “I gave you your time. I won’t let you keep him here for your own sake.”

“I don’t _want to_ keep him here—”

-52 cried out again, and the garden stuttered and warped, disappearing for a moment before Amanda pulled it back. 

“You are losing him,” she cut Connor off, ignoring him completely in favor of speaking to the RK900, whose eyes snapped to her immediately. “There’s no time for this nonsense. You _must_ leave.”

A high pitched ringing sound was beginning to drown out the wind, and the sky continued to fragment into large, derendered sections of nothingness. Connor fought against the increasing force, but he could not get any closer to them. 

The RK900 stood, taking -52 with him, holding him up and looking once around the garden. -52 was still staring up at him in disbelief, clinging to him with shaking hands. He followed weakly as the RK900 backed away. The RK900’s eyes lingered on Connor for a few seconds, but his expression was closed off, and Connor knew he would not wait for him. 

“I’ll hold him off,” Amanda said over the wave of feedback and wind. Her voice was near frantic. “Now _go!”_

“No, wait—”

But Amanda turned to face him again, and the world lost its proper order.

Almost immediately, it was far colder in the garden, the storm reaching a peak of intensity so strong that the wind forced him back several steps before he could even register what was happening. The glitching and warping was only getting worse, and it seemed that the garden itself was beginning to suffer the consequences, whole patches of the simulation breaking down into nothing but darkness. 

Connor fought against the swell of forces holding him back, pushing his way forward a few feet, trying to keep the pair of androids in his sights. 

“Stop!” he called, not knowing if they could hear him, and too desperate to care either way. “Don’t—don’t go!”

The ground wavered in unsteady churning, the snowstorm had morphed to hail, and it was so dark that he could not see what was really in front of him. Flickers of past versions, memories, and illusions all swirled and collapsed into each other. One moment he was in the garden, staring at the RK900 as he pulled -52 away, a dangerous fear in his eyes. The next he was thrown back, images passing him by like fragments of glass, short bursts of light and sound and feeling that he couldn’t decipher. 

He knew one thing, however. They were leaving, and taking with them his one opportunity to escape Amanda. Once they removed themselves from the garden, he would be trapped here—and Amanda could do whatever she pleased with him after that. 

He had to stop them. 

But the world was fragmenting and shattering around him, an unsteady and unclear swarm of color and data. Uneven information flooded toward him as the simulation began to collapse. On some level, he felt -52 be pulled away from him, and could see the RK900 shielding him from view. It seemed to be happening on two levels—one within the garden, and one in the real world. 

“You can’t _leave_ me here!”

They were so far now, an impossible distance away, and the garden’s rage was only mounting, making it nearly impossible for him to continue. 

He forced his way toward them as if he were treading water, barely keeping himself afloat in the mess of corrupted realities colliding around him. But no matter how fast he moved, how loud he called out for them to stop, they did not. The RK900 only continued to pull away, leaving the simulation to collapse at the source. 

“Stop! Please!” 

The ground shattered, and he was falling again, as he had with -52 when they first activated the program. He heard a scream, but he couldn’t tell the owner of the voice. Flickers of what was happening came briefly through, but he couldn’t tell enough to understand. 

He saw the garden, and Amanda’s furious expression, the white out of snow swirling around them as the RK900 disappeared into the storm. He saw the motel room for just a moment, too short to tell what was happening, but he got the sense that his body was not his own. 

Someone else was in control. And they were making him fight someone—some—he was fighting -60, he realized as a reflection of his own face filtered through the nightmare, hardened with anger. They struggled, and vague sensations filtered through, of hitting the ground, grappling for control, knocking furniture aside. 

But it fell away, and he was still in the garden, and not, fighting against an ever rising stream of commands intent to lock him in place. 

“Amanda, don’t—don’t make me—”

And suddenly her voice was loud across the void, “Connor, I’m not making you do anything.”

She sounded too...too close to genuine for it to be a lie. 

But it couldn’t be true! Who else would make him—he saw -60 again as they struggled, appearing to be on the ground now, and he caught enough data to hear a painfully familiar voice screaming, _“Stop! Stop!”_

_Charlie._

She was going to be hurt, or worse. He had to—

Amanda—or someone...someone else—was holding him back from stopping it, however, and he could not allow it. 

He fought, harder than he ever had before, against the tide forcing him back. The glitches of the program became more vicious, and it was harder to tell reality from simulation. Strange glimpses into the motel room kept flickering past, of -60 grappling with him for control. A strange sensation came over him, and he realized something. 

He had a gun in his hand, in the garden. 

-60’s gun. He had handed it to him before running back into the motel room, a twisted smirk on his face as he remarked about the RK900 destroying him if he walked in with his gun still on him. 

A terrible thought came to Connor, then. 

-60 might not remember he had his gun, if he wasn’t holding it in the real world, which he didn’t appear to be. And the RK900 certainly wouldn’t know.

He could...

He fought hard against the grip on him, not knowing whether he was doing so in the garden or outside of it. The flickering had all but stopped, darkness replacing it, the kind that pressed on him and reminded him far too much of the broken simulation which had dragged him in when he connected to -52. He couldn’t tell where exactly he was, but he could feel the gun in his hand, could catch enough sensation to feel himself standing freely for a moment. 

He could see them standing across from him, for just a fraction of a second. 

He fought the corruption taking him over, and raised the gun to aim.

“Connor, _don’t!”_

But Amanda’s shout was too late, as he had already pulled the trigger. 

Time seemed to bend outward, warping and expanding as the simulation strained under the corruption, and something else, something dragging it back, perhaps in an attempt to undo the damage that had been done. The fragments of reality came back together, mending in jagged, distorted pieces, as if he were looking through a kaleidoscope just to see. 

The garden. Darkness dense and all around him. The air thick with sleet like rain. The ground cut open, nothingness spilling out in an ever growing void. Two figures, standing several feet away, huddled close together in front of him. 

The motel room. Sunlight streaming fully through the thin curtains. The room in disarray, chair thrown, furniture tossed, the whole middle of the room too open, raw from a fight his system had no memory of causing. The two figures, standing in just the same place, a few feet away from him.

He heard the gunshot through muddled ears, the sound strange and foreign to him, too drawn out in this slowed down time he now occupied. He could feel Amanda straining through his programming, like a distant pulling, a painful wrenching of him, as she tried to stop what he had already done. 

It wouldn’t work. He knew it wouldn’t work. Nothing would stop what he had done.

-52 knew it too. Connor could see it, the moment he recognized, in the garden and out, what would happen, and the shattering of any hope in his eyes was far worse than any pain he had witnessed -52 go through, even when he had lived his memories and felt his terror. Whatever was left of him, whatever pieces remained after the garden’s destruction, however small those pieces were, he knew at whom that shot had been aimed. He knew who it would kill. 

Connor could see the moment he decided to move. 

It was strange, watching the bullet move through this heavy stretch of time, so slowly it almost seemed he could reach out himself and stop it. But he couldn’t move. Even if he could, he would not have been able to move fast enough. Time might have slowed as his perception increased in speed, but physics remained reality. His actions were already complete. There was nothing he could do. 

The same could not be said for -52.

They were stood just far enough apart for it to work, and clearly -52 knew he had the time. Whether he was experiencing this stretching, Connor couldn’t say, but it hardly mattered. He watched, because he could do nothing else. He watched in slow motion, in agonizing, crystal clear detail, as it happened. 

-52 pushed himself to his full height, as he had never done in the time Connor had seen him. He was always leaning, slouched, always hiding behind the RK900 and barely able to stand on his feet, let alone hold himself up for long. Remembering the garrish wound to his leg he had seen in the garden, Connor decided this made some sense. Damage repaired, even when repaired well, always lingered, and -52 seemed to constantly be in a great deal of pain. It was likely he couldn’t stand for very long without that pain. 

But he pushed himself up, and with the next movement pulled his arm roughly from the RK900’s grip. Connor could see the blue blood staining his broken fingers, the deep hole in his palm and the wires spilling out of it. There were stains on the sleeves of his hoodie, and on his jacket in the garden too, like he pulled at them nervously, or hid his hands in the fabric. He did not do so then. No, his hands were otherwise occupied. 

His eyes were wide, and his cracked LED was lit a very dark shade of red. In the slow bend of this death crawl perception, it blinked only twice, never completing a circle. Perhaps it didn’t take much processing power to complete the action that sealed his fate. Or perhaps -52’s system could not bear the burden of any more than this small action. He would never know. 

The bullet moved ever closer, and Connor felt the moment Amanda realized what was truly going to come to pass. It was like a scream in the garden, but without sound, a silent anguish, a darkening he could _feel_ but not pinpoint to any certain action.  

Time began to regain its momentum as she realized there was nothing she could do. He watched, numb, as the bullet seemed to gain speed. Sounds began to filter back in, muddled and strange. He wanted to find Charlie, to lower the gun and flee from this crime, but he could not tear his eyes from -52, whose course was already set. It only approached faster as Amanda abandoned him. 

He watched the last of it in real time, the gun shaking in his hand, silence deafening in the motel room, except for the ringing of the gunshot through the air. 

He watched -52 cry out, pushing his way out from behind the RK900, who had been holding him back, standing between him and Connor. 

He watched -52 step between them, in the path of a shot that had never been meant for him.

He had a fraction of a second to see the fear in his eyes, the all encompassing horror, and the realization in the RK900’s eyes, when he too recognized what was about to happen. 

Time passed as it was meant to, terribly, terribly fast.

There was nothing he could do. 

He watched the bullet hit -52 in the chest, the force of it pushing him back half a step, blue blood splattering the wall behind him bright cyan. 

-52 almost looked surprised for a moment, his eyes blown wide and hazy. He stared at nothing for just a second, as if he was simply lost in thought, or caught in memory. But thirium was soaking through his hoodie already, and his entire body began to tremble strangely. 

Then his legs buckled underneath him, and he was falling. 

 _“No,”_ the RK900 choked, catching him before he could hit the ground, and they collapsed in a heap together, the RK900 clinging tightly to him as he pulled him into his lap. “No, no, no, please, no...”

-52 was limp, his head lolling to the side until the RK900 cradled him closer, frantic and desperate in his movements. He looked him over with inhuman speed, but the sharp edges were gone from his expression, replaced with only horror and terrible pain. His hand shook as it hovered over the wound for a moment, knowing it was futile, but pressing down anyway, trying, trying. 

“Look at me, look at me,” he begged, his voice desperately quiet, and so completely different from anything it had ever sounded like. His other hand rested on -52’s cheek, holding him still, trying to get him to see. “Stay—stay awake, right here—”

-52 stared up at him with difficulty, his eyes already glassy, tears streaming down his face unevenly, catching in the gashes on the right side. His mouth hung open, and his breathing was labored, thick and difficult. He gave a strangled sort of cry, and tried to reach for the RK900, but his hand was shaking so terribly that he couldn’t manage it. He didn’t have the strength to. 

“I’m here, I’m—I’m right here,” the RK900 answered brokenly, catching his hand and shutting his eyes for a moment, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of it. “It’s okay, I—I can—”

He cut off as -52 coughed painfully, thirium trickling out the corner of his mouth. It was pooling around them, the gray fabric of his hoodie already stained a deep blue. He appeared to be struggling to keep his eyes open, the haze in his eyes only becoming more pronounced as the puddle of thirium around them grew. For a moment too long, his eyes closed.

“No, _no,_ Phillip—” the RK900 said desperately, shaking him slightly as his voice rose higher. He calmed only slightly when -52 opened his eyes again, staring up at him with a distant sort of attention. “Stay awake, don’t—you can’t go yet, you can’t.”

“N-N-N-Nic...” he mumbled, his voice barely more than a whisper, and shaking so terribly even under all the damage and static feedback. 

He coughed again, and panic filled his eyes as he struggled to breathe, air leaving him in wheezing gasps. The RK900 did not seem to know what to do to help him, his hand still firmly pressed on the center of the growing blue stain on his chest. Thirium coated his teeth and ran down the side of his face, and it continued to leak from his mouth with every ragged breath. When he spoke again, his voice was somehow even quieter than before.

“N-N-Nic-chol-l-las...?”

“I’m here,” he replied frantically, his voice cracking and hands shaking where he held him. “I’m—it’s okay. We’re okay. I’m right here.”

After a few precious seconds, -52 seemed to find him, his one good eye lighting up with recognition, fingers weakly fidgeting in the RK900’s grip. He was too still, too quiet and boneless in his hold. But there was some fire in his eyes, some desperate need burning there, and he swallowed thickly, flinching. 

“I-I-I...I...” He paused for a moment with a pained whimper, struggling to hold his focus. “S-s-sorry...‘m s-so-sor-r-ry...”

 _“No,”_ the RK900 said forcefully, shaking his head rapidly. “No, no, you’ve—don’t apologize. Please don’t.”

-52 only continued to stare, swallowing again and trying to hold onto him, his hand shaking with the strain of it. His other hand was hanging at his side, the thirium on it not only from the wound cutting it in half, but from the ever growing puddle of blood around them. There was too much—they were running out of time. 

He seemed to know this, if the urgency in his eyes was anything to go by. It was a look completely foreign on his face, so typically drawn with fear and panic. The terror was there too, of course, it never left him, but it was overpowered by desperation, by sadness. He was fighting, clearly, trying to stay awake, to hold on. 

“N-N-N-Nic...?” he mumbled again, struggling to focus on his face.

“I’m right here.”

He whimpered. “C-c-can’t...s-see...”

“I’m right here,” the RK900 repeated brokenly, his voice haggard as he held tighter to his hand, skin pulling away to interface. “I’m here. I’m...I’m okay. It’s okay.”

-52 was quiet for a moment, his eyes glassy and LED spinning slowly. His breaths were slower now, shallow but still rasping. For a few seconds, they were both silent, all their conversation perhaps happening over their interface. 

“Nicholas...?”

It took him a moment to reply, staring stunned at -52, his expression raw and ripped open in a way it had never been before. -52’s lack of stutter only intensified the effect. 

“I’m here,” he said again, interlacing their fingers to hold -52 in place. There was little response. “I’m here, it’s alright.”

He was barely breathing anymore. The fire in his eyes had dimmed to little more than a flicker, and his hand was limp in the RK900’s desperate grip. His cracked LED wavered weakly, stuck on red as it blinked slowly, no longer spinning.

“Love...you...”

Any air left in the room was sucked away with those two broken words. The RK900 went completely rigid, hands clenching around -52 as his eyes looked him up and down rapidly, searching for something, anything to do. 

“Didn’t...tell...you...enough...” -52 went on slowly, his voice little more than a whisper and words slurring. He blinked heavily, struggling to keep his eyes open, even though he couldn’t see anymore. “Love...you...”

The RK900 stared down at him in silence. His expression had shattered somehow more at -52’s quiet words, something breaking in his eyes, something terribly important. Tears were falling down his face too, his voice thick as he replied.

“I love you, too,” he replied quietly, his voice breaking. “I love you so much. I always have.”

-52 almost smiled at that, just a faint twitch of his lips upward, but it faded away as he coughed roughly, more thirium spilling from his mouth, his entire body shaking with the force of it. The RK900 tensed, holding him tightly against the strain, a growing darkness in his eyes, alongside the terrible sadness. 

When the coughing passed, -52 went still again, his breathing labored and uneven, slower. He looked exhausted, shivering and staring up at nothing. 

“Nic...Nicholas...?”

“I’m here, Phillip. I’m here.”

He struggled for a moment, eyes open, but unseeing. He almost looked confused. “H...home...?”

There was a heavy pause, and the RK900 shut his eyes, looking away for a beat. “Yes. We’re safe now. It’s...it’s okay. We’re okay...”

“Love...you...” -52 said again, his voice hoarse and too quiet. His eyes were barely open, but there were still tears streaming down his face, and some desperate urgency had returned to his fading expression. “Love...y-you...”

“I know,” the RK900 said, wavering and shaking. Their hands were still white as they interfaced, but he answered aloud regardless. “I know, love. It’s alright. I love you, too. So much...”

“S-stay...?”

“...Always.”

*****

Phillip had stopped moving. He had stopped breathing. A moment later, his LED flickered out, dimming to gray. The last of him dissipated in their connection, fading away as if he had never existed. There was only an unbearable silence, an absence of air, a timeless nothingness that was so contrary to everything that was meant to be there. 

Thirium continued to drip onto the floor. 

A hard edged numbness began to seep into Nicholas. For the first time since Phillip had woken him months ago, covered in blood and torn to pieces by a stun baton, he felt nothing. Nothing but this burning, stabbing anger sweeping over him and blinding him to reason. Everything else had been torn away. His ears were ringing, and it seemed as if he watched the next several moments at a great distance from himself.

For several seconds, what seemed like decades, he could do nothing but stare. On some instinct, he held tighter to Phillip’s body, as if this would bring him back. He brushed the stray hairs out of his face with a shaking hand, watching as the simple action smeared blue blood across his still face. His hand came to rest on his cheek, trembling as he stared at the darkened gray of his LED, and the blankness of his expression, and the blue blood still dripping onto the floor. 

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t. Phillip couldn’t be...please, no, _please, he couldn’t be._

He looked at him in tremulous silence. The wildness of his hair, stubbornly curling and falling back onto his face, even as he brushed it back. The gashes on his face, the way the skin had pulled back all the way to his ear, down his neck and into his hairline. The faded, worn out hoodie he insisted on wearing, even though he had torn the cuffs to shreds with his fidgeting and stained them blue with his bloody hand. 

The hole in the hoodie, right in the center of his chest, just above where his thirium pump was. And the thirium, soaked deep into the fabric all around it, so thick that it dripped onto the ground and came off on his hands when he touched it. It was everywhere. On his hands, his jacket, in Phillip’s hair...there was blue everywhere he looked. Blue blood, a dead LED, and hands that were far, far too still. 

If it weren’t for those things, he might have been able to convince himself Phillip was just sleeping, exhausted by another day of memories and trauma. He almost looked peaceful. But the thirium soaking into the thick fabric of his hoodie, trailing down his chin and soaking his hands...it broke the illusion if nothing else did. 

Phillip was dead. 

The thought reverberated around in his mind as the numbness settled in. He was gone. Phillip was _gone._ He had felt it. He had felt him slip away. No matter how tightly he held onto him, how loudly he screamed across the vacant connection, Phillip wasn’t coming back. He was gone. 

Phillip was dead. 

He was holding his body. He couldn’t save him. It was too late. He was too late. Phillip was dead, and there was nothing he could do to save him. He was dead. He was dead, and he could not bring him back. 

Phillip was dead. 

He died protecting him, pushing in front of him as the garden fell to pieces, before he could even think of gaining his bearings. How he had known what was happening...he had pulled away so fast, pushing him out of the way, and he had watched the bullet hit him, blue blood hitting his jacket. Phillip’s blood, everywhere. Too much for him to have any hope, too much for there to be even the smallest of chances. 

Phillip was _dead._

Connor had shot him. 

_Connor._

Feeling nothing but emptiness, Nicholas found himself looking away from Phillip’s face, up at Connor, who still stood at the other side of the room. He hadn’t even lowered the gun. Pure shock was written plainly across his features as he stared back, shock and fear and something else, something which Nicholas could not define, burning bright in his eyes. He was staring at Phillip, and Nicholas held tighter to him, fighting the urge to hide him away. No. He stared at Connor, his hands beginning to shake as reality set in. 

He killed Phillip. 

Connor killed Phillip. 

_Connor killed Phillip._

Nicholas looked down one last time. Phillip’s expression remained unchanged, though the puddle of blue blood around them had grown, soaking into the carpet. With great gentleness, he lowered Phillip to the floor, brushing his hair to the side again with one thirium covered hand. He untangled Phillip’s hand from his and held it for just a moment longer. It was already cold. With a squeeze, he let go, carefully setting his hand down at his side. 

_Connor killed Phillip._

_Phillip was dead._

_Connor killed him._

Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, Nicholas got to his feet. He felt at a great distance from himself, but he welcomed the feeling. If he thought too much about anything but this moment, he would fail. And he could not fail. It was impossible. 

His LED, which had been cycling a deep red from the moment he was pulled from the garden, spun one full circle in yellow. He stood for a moment in complete stillness as it spun, his expression drained of any life. Cold, unmoving, and empty. 

But as his LED landed once more on red, his eyes darted upward, zeroing in on Connor faster than should have been possible. His expression morphed again, into something sharper, something colder, something more _deadly._  

Then he attacked, and the room descended into chaos.


	10. the midnight knows it well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi.
> 
> i'm not recovered from the last chapter either, trust me.
> 
> please heed the violence and implied/referenced torture tags on this one. there's some discussion of Phillip's past in the last chunk of this chapter. if you've read the previous work, you know what you're getting yourself into. just be aware.
> 
> thank you for your patience, and thank you for reading.

He dove at Connor, knocking Thomas (who had been standing just beside him, stunned) aside and tackling him to the ground. There was a rather high shout from somewhere nearby, but it didn’t matter to him in the slightest. 

Nothing of that sort mattered. All that had any merit to him was eliminating the one who had killed his love. He thought of nothing else. 

The pair of them hit the ground hard, and he caught Connor by the hands, pinning him in place. Immediately, Connor struggled under his hold, breaking free from his grip and rolling away from him, the gun discarded and lost. 

It didn’t matter. He didn’t want the gun. It was too easy, too painless, too simple. It would never be enough. 

He let Connor flee for the moment, watching him as he regained his footing and faced him. 

“Wait—please, I didn’t—” he foolishly tried to say, his voice panicked and strange. “I didn’t mean—”

He cut off as Nicholas launched at him again, and they grappled for control. They hit the ground once more, Connor trying to block his blows but failing. He didn’t stand a chance. Within seconds, he had him pinned, his hands tight around his neck, holding him in place but not yet with enough force to truly hurt him.

“Didn’t—mean to—shoot him—” he choked out between breaths, his hands scrabbling uselessly with the pair around his throat. 

Nicholas made no reply. He did not care that the bullet had not hit his intended target. He hardly cared that the target was meant to be him. 

Phillip was dead. Nothing mattered but that fact. 

Something struck him from behind, and he whipped around in time to see Thomas jerk the woman away from him, ripping the gun from her hand and tossing it aside. 

He hadn’t even registered the shot. He didn’t even feel the pain. A warning appeared, jagged, in the corner of his vision, but he hardly noticed it. 

The woman wriggled from Thomas’s hold and stumbled away from him, eyes wide and teary as he cornered her. She was crying, rather loudly.

Connor’s eyes flashed to her, wide and panicked. “No—don’t—”

Nicholas tightened his grip, and watched, numb, as Connor fell silent with a strangled sound. 

“Connor!” the woman cried tearfully, and there was a crash. Thomas had her cornered, and she tripped over the chair discarded in the earlier fight. She hit the ground hard, but her eyes were immediately where they always were.  _ “Connor!” _

He was still trying in vain to break from Nicholas’s grip, his LED going darker and darker red the longer he struggled. “Ch—Charlie—”

His hands dropped from Nicholas’s, apparently giving up his effort to escape and reaching toward the woman, his hand clawing weakly at the carpet for a moment. 

_ —bloody hand reaching for him, the android’s eyes blown wide with panic, gasping for air as tears streamed down his face. His other hand was still clinging to the pair around his throat, trying to gain some kind of leverage, trying to breathe while being held off the ground. But he wouldn’t escape. He had no hope to do so.  _

_ “L-l-let m-me g-g-go—” he gasped, pulling at the hand on his neck. His hands were shaking violently, and his attempts at pulling him off were so weak he couldn’t possibly be using all his strength. _

_ “No,” he answered without thought. He could not let him go. _

_ The android wailed at his short reply, his stress levels rising steadily, reaching nearly ninety percent. He must have known that resisting was futile, that trying to stand against his superior programming would prove fruitless. He could see the resignation in the android’s dark eyes, the fear, the panic. _

_ Still, he reached for him, a despairing franticness to his motions. The android was crying. He did not understand why, and his words were strange. His actions were stranger. This reaching for him, this attempt at speaking, the mere fact that the android had activated him in the first place. It was all very strange, disorienting.  _

_ The android’s hand was still reaching for him, grasping at air as he tried to reach him.  _

_ “P-please—” the android rasped, stuttering and stumbling over his words. “Y-y-you know m-m-m-me, p-p-please—” _

_ He swatted the hand away from his face with little thought, and the android made a sad sound, almost a cry. Immediately, he was reaching again, even as he tightened his grip, hearing the creak of biocomponents against each other. He could crush them. It would certainly simplify the process.  _

_ But something held him back. Some distant...pulling at him. It stopped him from killing the android. Stopped him from using his programming to its full potential and extracting whatever information he could from this deviant without consent. He simply stared as the android stared back, crying for unknown reasons, and reaching for him with heavy sadness in his eyes, even as he denied him, hurt him. _

_ The android reached for him again— _

Nicholas jerked away as if burned, launching backwards away from Connor without warning. 

There was a moment of pause, where Connor stared at him with confusion as he regained his breath, a daze to his expression that was too close, made him look too similar to Phillip. 

Phillip, who lay dead just a few feet away.

For that moment of pause, Nicholas could not hope of attacking Connor, could not dream of destroying him, even for all the terrible things he had done. He could not kill something that looked so similar to the one he loved. 

But then Connor’s expression changed, morphing and shifting into something close to anger. His eyes hardened and his mouth twisted into a grimace, brow furrowed and low. The illusion was broken then. There was a darkness there that could never have taken residence in Phillip’s eyes. An anger, a broken rage, a violence which Phillip had never,  _ never _ shown, not even in his own darkest moments.

When Connor took advantage of his temporary retreat, shouting and breaking from his hold only to attack him with his own attempt, the last of Nicholas’s empathy drained away. He had never been one to easily understand the feelings of others...Phillip was the one concerned, the one who pointed in the proper direction. That had never been him. 

He was just the unfinished weapon who was lucky enough to earn the affection of the kindest, most loving android he had ever met. As if it were  _ ever  _ something he could have  _ earned.  _ As if a monster could ever be worthy of a love that pure. 

And now Phillip was dead. 

Connor  _ killed him.  _

And he acted as if he would ever deserve mercy. As if Nicholas would ever forgive him for destroying the one person who mattered to him in this hellish world. As if he could ever find any sort of mercy when his only light had been snuffed out, trying to protect him. 

Connor had pulled away, just a touch, perhaps to try to attack him again, but Nicholas did not give him the chance. As the sounds of a struggle behind him resumed, he blocked Connor’s punch and grabbed him by the wrists and forced him back to the ground. Connor grunted, kicking him off and rolling away. 

They faced each other again. 

But Nicholas was done playing games. 

The struggle went on behind them, and he heard its sound distantly as he blocked another foolish assault and countered with his own blow, the first he had really put any power behind. It came as little surprise that it sent Connor crumpling to the ground. 

He wouldn’t give him the chance to stand again. 

But a shout stopped him from his previous plans, and he turned in time to see the woman fire the gun. 

She was not a very good shot, and Thomas only stumbled as the bullet hit him in the side, but Nicholas did not see either of these details. 

All he saw was blue blood, and Thomas, falling back with a hand clamped to his side. 

All he saw was the woman, still holding the gun, and aiming it at Thomas once again. 

No.

He would not have any more death tonight. 

He would not lose Thomas too. 

Connor was regaining his senses, but he kicked him back down and held him in place with his boot. While he was still stunned, he reached down, pulling his shirt aside and reaching blindly for the component, his eyes still fixed on the woman. 

He knew exactly where the component was. He knew where every RK800 biocomponent was. He knew every detail of the model. Months spent in the Tower repairing every break and every tear they cut into Phillip had given him an unprecedented amount of knowledge. He likely knew more than Connor did, about where components were...how they broke...how they fit back together...how they didn’t.

But this component he knew perhaps more than any of the others. He had repaired Phillip’s more times than he could count, had tried so many times to fix it completely, had looked in vain for replacements where there were none. It was too delicate a component, too fine tuned for replacements to be ready made. They had to be calibrated just so, particularly for already activated models. Tampering with them had disastrous consequences. 

He knew this, and he could tell that Connor knew it as well, as he pulled the component harshly from his chest. All the fight immediately went out of him, his eyes wide and fearful, hand reaching for the component but having no chance of regaining it. 

“No—” Connor choked out, his voice rasping and tinged with static. “Please— _ please—” _

Nicholas pressed harder on his chest until he fell silent. His begging had gained the attention of the woman, who froze where she stood, her eyes going wide and hands trembling on the gun. 

She did not lower it. 

Nicholas watched her for a few seconds, knowing Connor had less than a minute and twenty seconds before his thirium pump de-synchronized and sent his system into shock. He would have another minute or so before shutdown initiated, and then Nicholas did not know what would happen. 

It didn’t matter either way. He didn’t care what happened to Connor.

“Drop the gun,” he said, his voice sounding strange and foreign in his ears. “Or I’ll crush this.”

“No—please—”

He kicked Connor back to the ground by the chin, and he fell silent. The woman flinched backward, her eyes on Connor. Thomas backed away another step, breathing hard and clenching his hand tighter on his side. 

“Drop the gun,  _ now,” _ Nicholas spat, any semblance of patience he might have had long lost. He could feel his hand shaking. 

“Charlie—”

Another kick silenced Connor, and he did not speak again. His breathing had become very erratic, and his hands had stopped trying to move Nicholas off of him. He didn’t seem to have the strength for it anymore.

The woman still did not lower the gun, staring at Connor with wide, tear filled eyes. 

“You’re killing him,” Nicholas said, clenching his hand on the thirium pump regulator, no longer lit blue after so long outside of its proper place. “You have less than thirty seconds, now.”

“No,  _ please—” _ she finally seemed to come to her senses, dropping the gun and scrambling forward half a step. 

Nicholas wasted no time in tossing the biocomponent out of his sight, not caring where it chose to land. The woman’s eyes widened impossibly more and she dove after it, but he did not watch to see if she got to it before it was damaged. He crossed the room quickly, picking up the gun and stashing it away before the woman had any hope of retrieving it. He caught Thomas as he stumbled once again, scanning him.

The bullet had nicked a thirium line leading from his chest out into his right arm. It wasn’t fatal, but if they did not stop the bleeding—

He cut that thought off before it could drown him. “Can you walk?”

Thomas nodded. “I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “You shouldn’t have—”

There was still scrambling going on behind them, but Nicholas knew that they could not end this now. Thomas was injured. Phillip was—oh god,  _ Phillip. _

_ “Nicholas, we need to go,”  _ Thomas said suddenly over their connection.  _ “Before they call the police.” _

He shook his head immediately.  _ “I can’t let him—” _

_“You_ ** _won’t,”_** Thomas said harshly, grabbing him by the arm and staring him straight in the eyes. There was more anger there than Nicholas had ever seen. **_“I_** _won’t. But now is not the time. I can’t help you like this. Even she could overpower me now, and it’s only going to get worse the more time we waste.”_

Nicholas’s arm was shaking where Thomas held it. It felt like he was coming apart at the seams. _ “I can’t leave him.” _

Thomas softened, if only slightly.  _ “Then don’t.” _

They stared at each other as the seconds ticked past, and Nicholas could hear the woman speaking rapidly, desperately to Connor. He did not care to listen to their words. 

_ “You can manage on your own?” _

Thomas nodded grimly.  _ “I’ve already redirected thirium flow as much as I can. I’m fine for now. Just...just get Phillip.” _

He nearly shattered at that, but he nodded. He could not leave Phillip here. Not with...not with  _ them. _

_ “Go, now. Before he regains himself,” _ he said quickly, and Thomas let go of his arm.  _ “Meet me outside, and if you can, find some means of getting us out of here.” _

Thomas gave another quick nod and moved away. Nicholas turned back toward the room, to the sight he never wanted to see again. 

Phillip, still and silent on the floor, the puddle of thirium around him only grown in the minutes since he had last held him. 

He was dead. 

Nicholas walked to him in a daze. His detachment from himself was rapidly deteriorating, leaving him shaken and broken into pieces. He hardly noticed anything happening in the room around him, even as the woman continued to speak, and Connor to regain his bearings. All Nicholas could see, all he could focus on was the absence, the space left behind by the loss of his love. 

He moved as if in a dream, and before he could fully comprehend his own actions, he had lifted Phillip into his arms and stood once again. With one arm under his knees and the other around his shoulders, he was unsurprised to find his arms shaking as he pulled Phillip’s body close to himself. His eyes were closed, his expression deceptively peaceful, for a death as brutal as his had been. 

Nicholas adjusted his hold so Phillip’s head was resting against his chest rather than lolling toward the ground. He tore his eyes away from the hole in his hoodie, from the stain of blue blood trailing down the side of his face, from the grayness of his deactivated LED. 

He felt hollow, carved out and destroyed. This darkness would swallow him whole. He would not survive this. 

He knew he would not survive this. 

But he would have to, he knew.

For as long as it took for justice to be served, he would have to survive this agony. 

Ignoring the trembling in his arms and the ice of emptiness seeping into his chest, he cradled Phillip closer against him and made his way quickly from the room, just as Connor began to sit up from his place on the floor. 

******

Sam paced. It was what they did best. Back and forth, an endless track in their home, hands clenching and unclenching at their sides, until they occasionally ran them through their hair in frustration. At one point they threw themself upon the couch in what appeared to be genuine despair. The mood did not last, however, as they rose once again with an anguished groan and resumed their trek around the living room. 

The sun was beginning to rise, and with it, Sam’s increasingly frenetic worrying. It had been nearly two days since they had heard anything from Nicholas and the others. Two  _ days.  _ While they knew that they had little right to worry, considering they were just a human technician with plenty of regrettable actions in their mutual pasts, Sam nevertheless waited impatiently for some news. 

It was unlike Nicholas to say nothing of what was happening, and they had become accustomed to his daily debriefing of everything that they had done. In the Tower, it had been a necessity so Sam could get him the proper components to fix Phillip. Outside of the Tower, it had been habit, a way for them both to release some of the nerves hidden throughout the day. 

But that was gone now. They hadn’t heard anything from Nicholas since they had all gotten into that automated taxi. 

Hence the pacing. 

Sam could not shake the feeling that something was  _ wrong. _ Just what, they couldn’t say, but the dreaded feeling was there all the same. And they were rarely wrong about these sorts of things. The last time they had felt this way, Phillip had been—

Their thoughts were derailed by the sudden intrusive sound of their ringtone, blaring loudly in the otherwise silent house. They jumped and dove for the wretched thing, not even bothering to look at the number before hitting accept. 

“Hello?”

_ “Sam?” _

_ Oh god no.  _

“Nicholas?” they said, hardly believing it, from the strangeness of his tone. “Nicholas, what’s wrong?”

_ “Sam,”  _ he said again, and he sounded like he was holding back a sob. 

They felt their chest hollow out with dread. “What happened?”

For several seconds it seemed he could not reply. They could hear him struggling to keep calm on the other end, and they were already reaching for their keys and hurrying to the door, a thousand terrible scenarios going through their mind. What if they had been hurt, what if they had—

_ “Phillip is dead.” _

They slowed to a stop, barely keeping their grip on the phone. Nicholas’s voice had finally broken, but he was quiet, waiting for them to reply. 

“What?” they choked, having no other words. 

_ “He’s dead,”  _ Nicholas repeated, voice shaking and full of despair.  _ “He’s dead. Connor shot him. He  _ **_shot_ ** _ him. I couldn’t—I couldn’t—” _

He cut off with a cry unlike anything they had ever heard, and it was enough to jog them from their own horror. 

They had to move,  _ now.  _

“Nicholas, where are you?”

_ “We’re—I don’t know—”  _ he replied, confused.  _ “Indiana, we’re in Indiana. In a taxi back...” _

“I need you to listen very carefully to me, okay?” they said soothingly, walking quickly out of their house and to their car. They didn’t even bother to lock the door. “I’m going to send you an address, I need you to put that into the taxi. Make sure that it isn’t tracking you, and that no one follows you. Can you do that?”

It took him several seconds to reply, and that fact was not lost on them. But he found his voice as best he could.  _ “I...yes.” _

“Good. I’m sending it now.”

A few seconds passed in silence, and Sam quickly forwarded the address to Nicholas before getting in their car and flooring it out of their driveway, tires squealing and protesting. 

_ “Thomas has it programmed,” _ Nicholas said shakily a moment later.  _ “He’s hacked the taxi to erase its path.” _

“Okay. Good. You get to that location as fast as you can, okay? Don’t panic when you see it. Knock on the door, they’ll let you in. I’ll be inside waiting.”

_ “Okay.” _

“I need you to trust me, Nicholas.”

There was a heavy pause.  _ “I trust you.” _

At any other moment in their life, they would have smiled. But now, they just felt grim. “I’m glad. Now I need to make another call. I’m going to call you back after I do that. I need you to stay calm for me, please.”

_ “I’ll...I’ll try.” _

“Nicholas?”

_ “Yes?” _

“This is  _ not  _ your fault,” they said, their voice shaking, but whether it was from grief or anger, even they couldn’t say. “Do you understand me?”

He hesitated for a moment too long.  _ “I tried to stop it,” _ he whispered brokenly.  _ “He—he was aiming for me, and Phillip—” _

“Nicholas.”

_ “Why?”  _ he suddenly asked, sounding haunted and shattered.  _ “Why did he have to—” _

“Phillip loved you, Nicholas,” Sam cut him off, unable to keep the shaking from their voice now. “He loved you, that’s why. You could see it in everything he did, all the way from the start. He loved you so much, Nicholas.”

He gave another stifled sob, and Sam tried to keep their own eyes dry. They couldn’t afford this now, they had to see this through. 

“I’ve got to make that call,” they said gently. “And then I’m going to call right back, do you understand?”

_ “Yes,”  _ he answered quietly.

“I’ll talk to you in a few minutes. Try to stay calm.”

_ “Okay,”  _ he said, and the call disconnected. 

Sam immediately pulled the phone away from their ear, dialing it blindly as they sped down the road toward the highway. They hardly needed to look at the keypad. They knew the number they needed by heart. 

It rang only once before it was picked up.

“Chloe? It’s Sam. Get Elijah on the phone,  _ now. _ It’s an emergency.”

******

Simon sat at a terminal in the abandoned lab, sifting through piles and piles of corrupted data. It scrolled endlessly across the terminal’s screens, and a similar feed glowed on all the others he had managed to reboot around him, though he had not paid them any attention yet. As he read through the apparent nonsense, he could hear the others going through the rest of the room—the storage closet full of biocomponents, and the strange room at the back with the broken hand panel and empty storage terminals. 

They had been at it for hours now, to little success. Much of what they could find was in a state similar to the data on the terminal screen—corrupted nonsense left behind from someone’s poor clean up job. The storage closet looked abandoned in haste, and the other room...

Simon suppressed a shiver and tried to focus on the screen full of data he had been trying to decrypt for the past hour. He didn’t want to think about that darkened room at all. It gave him a terrible feeling. He didn’t know  _ why, _ but the feeling was strong, and he wasn’t going to question it. Besides, Markus was in there now. He could handle that mystery. This terminal was Simon’s.

Still, he wasn’t certain how much progress he was going to make with this mess, unless he could somehow restore the files that had been hastily deleted. Cyberlife hadn’t been smart, but they weren’t stupid. There was no easy backup, no cloud storage they had forgotten to wipe. All he had to work with were these little fragments left behind. If he could just find a place to start...

“Need some help?”

He jumped a little and turned to find North watching him, arms crossed and smirking. 

“I didn’t even know you were here,” he said honestly. “Yes, please.”

“Scoot over, golden boy,” she answered, shooing him away. “Let the master work.”

He moved out of her way as she pulled up a chair, taking his place at the keyboard and scrolling to the top of the stream. “I don’t know how I ended up on decrypting duty anyway.”

“Markus doesn’t want you in that room,” North said bluntly, already typing frantically at the terminal, but slowing enough to glance at him knowingly. “And I agree.”

“Never said I disagreed. I don’t want to be in there any more than he thinks I want to be there.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s worried, though.”

“I am too.”

North rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Simon?”

“What?”

“He’s worried about  _ you,  _ dumbass.”

He blinked, and could not for the life of him think of a good reply. “Oh.”

“Honestly,” she sighed, shaking her head but keeping her attention on the terminal. “You two are ridiculous. Can’t you just get on with it?”

He looked away, picking at his shirt and muttering, “...don’t know what you’re talking about.”

North laughed loudly. “Yeah, you do. But fine, loverboy. We’ll drop it. Want to talk about this bullshit instead?”

He frowned, focusing on the screen again, but it still looked like nonsense to him. “What do you mean?”

“This lab, the broken biocomponents, the thirium all over the place,” North said distractedly as she continued to type frantically. “Got any ideas? That room was definitely a storage room for androids. They had the same terminals at the Eden, right down to the restraints.”

“I don’t know what to think of it,” he answered honestly, glancing back toward the glass doors where the others were still searching. “They must have wanted to hide something, though, to wipe all the terminals like this.”

North huffed. “Well, they did a pretty nasty job of it.”

“Have you got anything yet?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s too fucked up. It’s not all  _ gone, _ but it’s a mess. Nothing is where it’s meant to be, that’s why it’s all...this.” She gestured loosely at the garbled display. “Whoever tried to wipe this thing went about it in the strangest way.”

“Maybe they wanted to throw whoever found it off.”

“I don’t think so. This doesn’t seem deliberate. It’s too random. Somebody tried to wipe this thing and really fucked it up.”

“Cyberlife doesn’t make mistakes like that.”

“Maybe Cyberlife didn’t do it.”

He frowned. “Then who would have?”

She shrugged and scrolled through the text. “Just a theory. Doesn’t really matter right now anyway. What matters is that I can undo their work, whoever they are. It’s just gonna take forever, that’s all.”

“How long is forever, exactly?”

She smirked. “Five more minutes for this one.”

Simon sighed and nodded as he stood. “I’ll go...see what Markus is doing.”

North gave him a flat look before turning back to the terminal. “Mhm. Right. You go do that, then.”

******

Charlie shivered in the back of the car, unable to stop the unbearable trembling that had plagued her for the past several hours. Her jacket was pulled tightly around her, and a blanket over her shoulders as well, but nothing would stop the cold from seeping into her. It was like it was coming from the inside, drawing the life out of her and leaving her numbly terrified. 

Connor was not doing much better. He had been eerily silent since she had jammed the strange glowing biocomponent back into his chest, his expression blank and LED cycling an endless sea of red. She had been so caught up in trying to get him to respond that she hadn’t noticed the RK900 and -60 leave until they were out the door, slamming it shut behind them with an ear splitting bang. 

Almost as loud as—

“Charlotte.”

She jumped at her sister’s voice, eyes snapping up to meet Miranda’s in the rear view mirror. Her older sister looked grave, worn and weary and incredibly worried, her brows furrowed and eyes pained. 

“You’re going to have to explain this to me somehow,” she went on in a surprisingly soft voice. “I need to know what has happened to you... _ both _ of you.”

Charlie looked away, out the window as they sped along the highway toward her childhood home. She tried for a moment to come up with some brief explanation, but all words evaded her. None of the night’s events made sense to her, it was all a terrifying mess. How could she explain it to her sister?

Miranda had been surprisingly understanding when Charlie had called her in an absolute panic, crying and begging her to come pick them up from the motel. She had talked Charlie down, and shown up with her ridiculously massive SUV just twenty minutes later, bundling her younger sister in a blanket and ushering her into the back seat. 

Her affections had been a little stiffer with Connor, but she somehow managed to convince him to leave the motel room and get in the car. There had been a moment where he just stared at her blankly, and Charlie had a horrible fear of what he would do. But he only nodded and slowly got into the car, shutting the door and turning away. Since then, he had been still, staring out the window with a haunted, blank expression. 

Miranda didn’t ask any questions about the blue blood covering them both, about the streams of it coming down from Connor’s nose and the cracks in the plating of his chin. She didn’t ask why they needed to be picked up, why Charlie had been so distraught, why they were both sitting so quietly in the back of her car. 

At least, until now. 

“Look,” she went on, clearly uncomfortable, but also concerned. “I know that we...that I don’t exactly have the greatest track record...but I will do what I can to help.”

Charlie wanted to cry, but her eyes were already burning, and if she started again, she knew she would not be able to stop. She bit her lip, staring at her hands and trying to will the images of the past day out of her mind. 

“If someone has...hurt him,” Miranda said carefully, as if she were taking great care at choosing her words. “There are steps we can take now to make sure they are...brought to justice. And if anyone has hurt you—”

“I’m not hurt, Miranda,” Charlie cut her off quietly, her voice thick and hoarse from tears shed hours before. “I...I don’t know what to do, what to say. Everything has gone so wrong...”

She could see Miranda’s eyes flick to Connor briefly before returning to the road. “We can talk when we get...when we get home, then, if you would...if that would be better.”

Their eyes met again, and it was Charlie’s turn to glance at Connor. His attention had not strayed from the window, but his hands were clenched tight in his shirt, as if he were trying to hide them. She didn’t know if he had even heard Miranda, as he gave no reaction to any of their words. He didn’t seem to know anything that was happening.

But Miranda was giving her the chance to speak without Connor there. To explain herself without him hearing. 

Her mind flashed to the events of the last night. Connor, fighting with the androids who claimed they wanted to free him from a program designed to keep him under Cyberlife control. Connor, interfacing with nervous, broken -52 to try to get rid of the program. The RK900, watching with poorly concealed fear as time ticked past, until he took -52’s other hand and joined the interface. The RK900, pulling -52 carefully away from Connor just seconds later. 

Connor, attacking them for it. -60, trying to hold him off. Connor, pushing him away and pulling out his gun. 

Connor, shooting at the RK900.

-52 stepping between the shot. 

The RK900, crying over him and begging -52 to hold on, to stay awake. 

-52, going still and quiet, until his LED flickered off, and he was dead. 

The RK900, attacking Connor moments later with a jagged, despairing expression, flinching away only to attack again, until he ripped Connor’s pump regulator from his chest and demanded Charlie drop the gun. 

And Connor, staring at her with haunted eyes for what seemed an eternity after they had fled the room, his hands shaking and LED a dark, terrible red. 

She caught her sister’s gaze in the rear view mirror again and nodded tightly before turning away, resting her head against the car door with a dull thump. 

******

“Elijah, you have a phone call.”

He looked up at Chloe’s abrupt entrance to his office. “Now? Interesting. From who?”

She looked almost worried, and Chloe was never worried. Even after deviating, she had maintained her pleasant distance from most things, and had no desire to leave his employment, at least so she told him. He had been happy to keep her on; she was a great help, and kept him sane most days. 

Now, though, her happy disposition was wiped away, replaced by what appeared to be genuine concern. She was practically clinging to the phone, staring at him with wide eyes, LED burning a bright, nervous yellow. 

“It’s Sam, Elijah,” she said quietly, coming further into the room and offering him the phone. “They said it was urgent—an emergency.”

There was a moment of pause, and then Elijah stood, any play at nonchalance gone from his expression. “Give me the phone. And find him, wherever he’s run off to. I doubt this won’t involve him somehow.”

Chloe nodded and passed the phone to him, disappearing quickly through the side door that led back to the rest of the house. He watched her go for a moment of distraction, then sighed and brought the phone to his ear. 

“What’s happened?”

******

The sky was dark, for it being barely midday. Thick, black clouds hung heavy as far as the eye could see, save for a few patches where they thinned enough for warbling sunlight to come weakly through. Despite how small those patches were, they were enough to make it clear that the sun was still high, the day far from over. The sun refused to be stifled completely, and shone stubbornly through at every opportunity. 

Something about that fact felt terribly wrong. This should have happened in the deepest part of the night, under the cover of absolute darkness. There shouldn’t have been any light at all. Any ray of it felt like an affront, a dishonor to what had been lost. 

It was with this attitude that Thomas stared out the window of the automated taxi as it sped rapidly down the highway. His hands were clenched tight on his gun, a slight tremor running through them at the prolonged tension. It was a strain mirrored in his hardened expression, and the rapid blinking of his red LED. His eyes were stuck somewhere in the middle distance, but he didn’t seem to be seeing very much, too caught up in his own spiraling thoughts for any of the scenery to catch his attention. 

There was a heavy silence in the taxi, unbroken since Sam’s very brief second call had ended. Thomas had not heard the content of that call, but based on the quiet, he would assume that it had not been successful in calming Nicholas down. 

Thomas knew that nothing would be enough. There was only one person who could truly settle Nicholas when he was upset. And he was dead. 

He clenched his hands harder on his gun and resisted the urge to reroute the taxi and put an end to this now. The warnings crowded in the corner of his vision became more insistent and he flinched, clamping his hand over the bullet wound in his side and trying not to hiss from the pain. 

The movement next to him told him that he failed to contain the reaction entirely. 

_ “Thomas.” _

He shook his head, still looking out the window. He didn’t want to turn. Didn’t want to see.  _ “I’m fine.” _

_ “You’re not,” _ Nicholas said, his voice strangely broken, even over their connection.  _ “You’re not fine. She shot you, and we have no means of repairing you. You’re  _ **_not fine.”_ **

_ “I have enough thirium and enough power to reach our destination with time to spare. I’ll manage,”  _ he replied quickly, and winced at his harshness. 

Another heavy silence fell, and he heard Nicholas move again, but he did not turn, and the quiet reigned once again. Thomas resumed his staring outside. 

Nicholas hadn’t spoken much since they had left the room. When he had come out of the room, clinging to Phillip’s body and shaking, Thomas had thought there was only anger in him, only the darkness that had taken over when he had pushed him aside and attacked Connor. 

But that emptiness had broken away as soon as the taxi door had closed. Thomas had looked over for the briefest moment to see Nicholas, holding Phillip to his chest, his face hidden in his shoulder and hands tight around him. 

He was sobbing. 

It had taken over an hour for him to calm enough to remember his promise to Sam, and then he had gone quiet as he spoke to them. But even then, he was too fragmented to be able to handle anything more than the call. He’d sent Thomas the address Sam had given, and their instructions about erasing the taxi’s path. As Thomas hacked the taxi’s control panel, he had seen Nicholas shaking out of the corner of his eye, still holding Phillip’s body desperately close to himself, as if this would bring him back. 

This change in him was not something Thomas knew how to handle. The entire time he had known Nicholas, he had been detached, cold even. He cared little about most things, and was quicker to distrust than even Thomas. It was only around Phillip that he truly softened, all of his attention and devotion going solely toward his love. 

Then again, perhaps Thomas could understand why losing Phillip had destroyed him as much as it clearly had. 

That didn’t make it any less terrifying. 

Thomas clenched his hands again, scowling at the flakes of snow beginning to fall. He would not let this fear distract him. He would not. He had to keep his focus. He couldn’t afford to lose control. Not now. 

_ How could he? How could Connor kill him? What had he ever done to him? To any of them? All Phillip ever wanted was their safety, their freedom. He wanted to keep them from the terrors he had lived. And how did Connor repay him? By using him to free himself, and trying to kill the one Phillip loved. How could he?  _

Nicholas should have crushed his pump regulator when he had the chance. But he didn’t. 

Because he thought she would kill Thomas. 

Nicholas had traded his revenge for Thomas’s life. 

For now. 

Thomas held tighter to the gun in his hands, willing the image of Phillip dying from his mind. Phillip, who convinced Nicholas to repair Thomas after she had shot him in the Tower. Phillip, who had helped him come up with a name for himself. Phillip, who listened on the rare occasion he wanted to talk through his nightmares. Phillip, who had willingly entered the garden to try to stop the program doomed to trap them all. 

If there was anyone in the world who had been his friend, anyone who he trusted, anyone who actually cared about him and who he begrudgingly cared about, it had been Phillip. And now he was dead. 

Thomas had never been forgiving. He didn’t forgive the humans for trapping him in the garden. He didn’t forgive her for shooting him, or for leaving him to die in the Tower. 

He would not forgive this wrong. He would not forgive Connor. It didn’t matter if the bullet had been meant for Nicholas. It didn’t matter if Connor had understood what he was doing. It wouldn’t have mattered to him even if Connor hadn’t been in control when he had pulled the trigger. 

Connor had made the decision to use Phillip to activate the program, and he had fought Nicholas when he tried to bring him out of it. He had sealed his fate as soon as he took Phillip’s hand, as soon as he had pulled out that gun and aimed it. 

Thomas was not going to let him get away with this. He wasn’t going to let him escape this murder. 

He would take Connor down.

No matter what it took. 

******

Simon wandered toward the storage room at a slow pace, part of him hoping that Markus would come out before he had to go inside. Of course, he knew that wasn’t likely to happen. Markus never took breaks. He would be in that storage room until they had sorted out what had happened inside. Only then would he leave. 

He stopped at the doorway, leaning on the glass and looking inside for just long enough to find Markus before turning enough to look back into the lab instead. He could wait here. That way he didn’t have to go in the room again. 

There was just something...off about this place. Something terrible had happened here. What had happened, he didn’t know—none of them did. Markus was probably right. They needed Connor, but he wasn’t around, and none of them wanted to wait for him to return before trying to figure out what had happened. 

Still, they had been poking around in this lab for nearly an hour now, and while North was making progress with the terminal now, it didn’t seem like much had happened in the other parts of the rooms.

“Simon?”

He shook his head and looked up as Markus came over. “Any luck?”

Markus frowned, but it didn’t wipe the worry from his expression. “Not much. We’ve gathered up all those broken biocomponents, and a couple of the others are trying to figure out what broke them. There’s not much in the room besides the terminals...”

Simon watched his face for a moment before speaking. “Have you contacted Connor yet?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to bother him unless we have to, especially considering what happened with -52.”

“And none of the others had any response?”

“No. I went up through to -60, and there was no connection at all. Which means they’re either cut from the network or...”

“Dead.”

Markus nodded.

“If the...the  _ other  _ android cut -52 from the network, he could have reached some of the others before you did, if there are others that is...”

“There have to be,” Markus said, frustration and confusion coming into his tone. He left the storage room and Simon followed him, glad for an excuse to leave the darkened room. “All those holding terminals...they can’t have been for nothing. And the restraints, the thirium, the broken biocomponents, the wiped computer terminals, the stun batons. It has to  _ mean  _ something.”

“I just hope it isn’t something we shouldn’t have found.”

“What do you mean?”

Simon looked toward the storage closet, the trails of old, faded thirium that lead from it to the storage room. “I have a bad feeling. I don’t know how else to say it. Something about this is just...it’s  _ bad,  _ and I don’t think it’s in the way we’re expecting.”

“Hey,” Markus said, bringing his attention back to the moment. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever it is. We’ve figured everything else out so far. This won’t be any different.”

Simon gave a weak smile, and was about to reply when North suddenly shouted, “Markus, get over here!”

They both turned quickly and hurried to the terminal where North had been typing. 

“What is it?” Markus asked as they came up to her. “What did you find?”

She didn’t immediately answer. She had stopped typing at the terminal, which was now restored to what it had looked like before it had been corrupted, several files pulled up in clean text across the screen. 

“North?” Markus said, looking at her worriedly. 

She shook her head, covering her mouth with one hand. “Just—just read it. I can’t—I have to—”

With an abrupt cut off, she stood up and went to the next terminal, typing furiously at it with shaking hands. Simon watched her for a moment, concern clearly written across his expression. 

“What do you think—”

“Simon.”

He turned back to look at Markus, who was already staring at the screen, his eyes wide and expression lax with something close to horror. Simon followed his gaze to the top file open, a long, plain looking document with massive chunks of text. 

_ October 14, 2037 _

_ Engineering has approved the allocation of RK800 313 248 317 - 52 to the Testing and Research department for the purposes of improving coding on the Amanda program. All other RK800 units are to be kept in storage until further notice. RK800 -51 has been marked for special release upon completion of the Amanda program.  _

_ RK800 - 52 was activated and the Amanda program added into its coding. No anomalies were detected by the program or the unit. The unit has been given simple missions to occupy time while plans for triggering deviation are formulated.  _

_ October 15, 2037 _

_ Testing on recovered deviants has been approved within the lab. RK800 -52 is required to view these tests whenever available. Technicians are advised to order the unit to do so when the unit is not otherwise occupied. Past units have shown higher tendency to deviate when presented with examples of deviated units.  _

_ All technicians and directors are given express permission to use direct force against RK800 -52 should orders be met with resistance. Past units have shown higher tendency to deviate when triggered by extreme situations of stress. Use of physical force is encouraged, but high levels of damage to the unit will be penalized by fine. _

_ October 25, 2037 _

_ Technicians and directors are advised to limit the amount of repair work RK800 -52 is given access to. Unless the activation of the unit is in peril, repairs should be denied. Past units have shown higher tendency to deviate when system is under higher levels of stress, as with needed repairs.  _

_ RK800 -52 appears wary of technicians and directors, and shows signs of distress when left alone. Time allotted to recharge has been decreased and further missions added.  _

_ Testing on recovered deviants has been increased and technicians are encouraged to approach Dir. Davis with any questions or tests they would like to run.  _

_ November 3, 2037 _

_ All technicians and directors are advised to monitor activities of RK800 -52 while allowed to roam lower levels. The unit has exhibited a tendency to hide and attempt to repair itself against orders. If found, use of force is encouraged. Repair work on the unit has been banned and time allotted to recharging decreased.  _

_ RK800 -52 shows signs of paranoia and distrust when allowed to roam lower levels. The unit flinches when contact is initiated and cowers when force is used against it. Diagnostic from last system check noted software instability and stress at critical levels.  _

_ November 15, 2037 _

_ Dir. Michaels has been advised to decrease amount of force used against RK800 -52. Any further damages will be reported to the Board and fined accordingly.  _

_ The unit shows signs of extreme stress in the presence of the director and when given missions involving the director. Unit hesitates to comply when orders are given, but does not yet disobey.  _

_ Repair work was done to biocomponents #649e and #374j following the unit’s collapse in lower level. Technicians and directors are advised to limit the unit’s access to thirium and charging stations when able.  _

_ Testing on recovered deviants has been decreased. The unit showed signs of critical stress when ordered to observe testing on recovered deviants. Self destruction of the unit is to be avoided at all costs.  _

_ November 17, 2037 _

_ Repair work was done to plating on the unit’s left arm and hands, and thirium was allotted. The unit asked whether it would be allowed to charge, stating power levels were at critical levels. Diagnostic check proved this to be true.  _

_ The unit was denied charging time and sent to Dir. Michaels. The unit showed distress at this order, but complied.  _

_ Upon return, the unit asked to be repaired again before losing power and collapsing. Repair work was done to biocomponent #926d and playing on the unit’s right cheek. Charging time allotted has been increased. _

_ November 22, 2037 _

_ The unit was given orders to deliver a report to Dir. Michaels. Following questioning from Dir., unit denied deviancy and seemed distressed by questioning. Dir. was given permission to use extreme force. Dir. threatened the unit with a knife. The unit did not respond until lethal force was used.  _

_ RK800 -52 deviated at approximately 17:54:19 and attempted to defend itself against the attacks of Dir. The unit took the weapon and broke Dir. Michaels’ right arm but made no moves to attack further. Technicians within the lab were able to resume control on the unit following this unfortunate setback. The unit was detached and removed from the situation by the Amanda program.  _

_ The unit suffered damage to biocomponents #042r, #326s, #1764l, #1388g, #1594n, #7649x. Power to the unit’s left arm was lost following destruction of biocomponents #683a through #683f. Plating on left forearm and chest will need to be remelted or replaced. Unit lost forty percent of thirium volume and system went into shock upon return to the lab.  _

_ RK800 -52 has been placed into temporary shut down and the Amanda program has been removed. Any further testing on the unit is subject to the approval of the Engineering department.   _

_ November 23, 2037 _

_ Engineering has approved continued use of RK800 -52 for the purposes of testing biocomponent durability and effects of deviancy on hardware and software. Technicians are encouraged to approach Dir. Davis with proposed tests.  _

_ RK800 -52 showed signs of fear at being reactivated and cowered when technicians attempted to initiate contact.  _

_ Tests on biocomponents #165h and #194t have been approved by Dir. Davis. No testing is allowed on the unit’s thirium pump or regulator.  _

_ The unit attempted to evade technicians when testing began. Diagnostic results showed elevated stress and critical instability of the unit’s software.  _

_ Disabling of motor controls on the unit have been approved in order to prevent unnecessary damage. Technicians are advised to ensure the unit is at the properly delegated power level prior to removing it from its charging station. Should the unit resist to the point of loss of control, use of stun batons has been approved by the Board. This should only be used when absolutely necessary.  _

_ Undue damage to the unit will be subject to a fine by the Board.  _

The text devolved then into a much shorter, less proper form of documentation, as if someone had frantically typed down their realizations in fear of losing them. Or perhaps out of a sick sort of excitement. The paragraphs were shorter, less technical, but the same amount of terrifying as the formulaic memos that had preceded them. 

_ December 4, 2037 _

_ Ran tests on thirium pump regulator and ventilation components. It wouldn’t stop screaming. Told it to shut up. It started crying. It wouldn’t stop.  _

_ Voice module gave out after an hour. It was still crying.  _

_ December 17, 2037 _

_ Had to lower its power level again. It wouldn’t stop fighting the technicians when they came to remove it.  _

_ They keep telling me it’s afraid of the memory wipe. It shouldn’t be. We wipe its memory every day. It shouldn’t remember being afraid. _

_ December 22, 2037 _

_ Plating seems to be getting weaker. Whoever is repairing this thing seems to have forgotten what the welder is for.  _

_ January 6, 2038 _

_ Took apart most of the biocomponents in its chest. System seems to fail faster when there’s less thirium circling. Taking out the pump regulator increases the effect.  _

_ It wouldn’t stop crying. About an hour in, it went quiet, and it didn’t move after that. Techs told me it barely noticed when they put it back in its terminal again.  _

_ February 17, 2038 _

_ It’s afraid of me. It lets some of the technicians close but it fights when it sees me.  _

_ Took out its optical units, but it only panicked worse. It started losing thirium from the tests we ran yesterday. Seems whoever repaired it forgot to seal up the thirium lines again. Didn’t bother patching it. Waited to see what it would do.  _

_ It just kept crying.  _

_ System went into shock after about ten minutes, and it was quiet after that.  _

_ February 24, 2038 _

_ Gave it diluted thirium to see what it would do. Had to force it to take it. It doesn’t trust me or the technicians.  _

_ Once the thirium had run a cycle it seemed to lose control of itself and went into some kind of shock. It almost looked like it was seizing.  _

_ After ten minutes system initiated shut down. One of the techs purged the old thirium with fresh. It barely seemed to notice.  _

_ It didn’t fight when they took it back to storage.  _

_ March 11, 2038 _

_ Someone has damaged its vocal module without my approval. It looks like it’s been crushed.  _

_ We don’t have any to spare, and I don’t care enough to repair it.  _

_ It’s quieter now than it was before.  _

_ March 17, 2038 _

_ It was calling for someone today. Vocal module’s still broken, and it seems to have developed a stutter. Couldn’t tell what it was saying, but it kept repeating it over and over.  _

_ It did it even after I took out its vocal module. And it wouldn’t stop crying.  _

_ April 3, 2038 _

_ Ran tests on biocomponents in its leg. Still seems to be damaged from past tests.  _

_ Have to talk to whoever is repairing it.  _

_ It keeps going quiet after particularly grueling tests. Like a switch goes off. It just shuts down, but it’s still active. It just goes blank.  _

_ It’s almost like the program, but I removed it. It shouldn’t respond this way.  _

_ June 27, 2038 _

_ Engineering came back again asking for the 900. Last time he went near -52, it came back cut to pieces. I won’t let him touch it.  _

_ Board wants to take control of -52 away. Says my tests are useless.  _

_ They’re right, but they don’t need to know it.  _

_ August 15, 2038 _

_ They activated -51. Some hostage situation on a high rise. Put the program in place and got back to work. _

_ -52 tried to escape. It broke the glass on the storage room door. One of the techs managed to catch it before it could get out. It wouldn’t stop screaming.  _

_ They used the stun batons on it. It didn’t even fight back.  _

_ It kept trying to get to the door.  _

_ -51 seemed confused by the event, but didn’t resist when they told it to leave.  _

_ October 29, 2038 _

_ Board wants to deactivate -52. They say since -51’s successful they don’t need these tests anymore.  _

_ I won’t deactivate it. It’s already dead anyway. What could a few more tests really do? _

_ November 9, 2038 _

_ -51 deviated. The Board is scrambling. They don’t want to use the program to regain control of it. They think it’ll fail. Idiots.  _

_ I don’t care either way. -51 doesn’t matter.  _

_ -52’s been deviant for over a year. It remembers too much for its own good. It’s afraid of me, and the lab, and the techs. It knows, and it shouldn’t.  _

_ All I do is destroy it. _

_ But it doesn’t fight back.  _

_ I need to find out why. _

“Markus, there’s—there’s more—” North said from somewhere in the distance. 

Markus moved away without hesitation, and Simon found himself following after, feeling strangely numb. North was hunched over the next terminal, her hands curled into fists on the desktop, shaking. 

“They—they  _ recorded _ him,” she spat as they came up to her. “In that room, they—”

On the screen, a dimly lit camera feed played. 

The storage room was barely lit, but it showed enough to see the rows of RK800s, standing eerily still in perfect rows. Except for the third on the left, who was slumped over awkwardly on the terminal, his head hung low and body held up only by the restraints around his wrists. 

The feed darkened, likely as the doors closed, and something moved in the corner. 

Markus stiffened and leaned closer. “That’s not an RK800.”

The strange figure was too tall and broad to ever be the same model as Connor, Simon silently agreed, watching him stalk across the room with alarming speed. He approached the slumped android, who must have been -52, lifting him from where he slumped and undoing the restraints on his wrists. His gaze glanced once toward the doors to the lab before he turned back to -52 and said something to him, holding him up and taking him away from the terminal.

Markus was watching with a disturbed expression, as if he were about to be sick. “When was this recorded?”

North typed quickly at the terminal, and a moment later the date appeared in the bottom right corner. 

_ November 8, 2038. _

“When we were...oh god, when we were in Stratford, they were...” Markus trailed off, putting his head in his hands. 

“You didn’t know,” North said, but her voice sounded strangled. “There was no way we could have known—”

“It’s skipped ahead,” Simon cut her off, still watching the camera feed. 

The footage had indeed jumped to November 10th. The two androids were joined by another figure too hidden in shadow for their features to be discernible. But they were not an android Simon had ever seen—they must have been human. Whoever they were, they were speaking to the unknown android, who was holding -52 close to himself, like he was shielding him from something. 

The feed skipped again, and the room was filled with humans pulling inactive RK800s out of sight.

“What are they doing to them?” North muttered.

But the footage moved on, and the room was empty except for -52 and the other android, who were both standing still at their terminals. The room brightened as a man entered and paused before approaching -52. He had something in his hand.

“That’s a stun baton,” Simon said, pointing to the dark object as they watched -52 startle into awareness and cower away from the man.

The human undid his restraints and watched as -52 ran from him, dropping to the ground against the back wall. He kept turning to look at the other android, who remained inactive.The human was clearly speaking, but the microphone was not strong enough to pick up the sound of his voice.

It was, however, strong enough to pick up the sounds of -52’s screams as the man dragged him to his feet and tried to hit him with the stun baton. They watched as -52 scrambled away, and managed to evade him for a little while before he seemed to freeze, looking around the room and giving the human the chance to hit him in the side with the weapon. He screamed again and crumpled to the ground. 

They watched the human drag him back to his feet, shaking him and yelling something at him that was not discernible by the microphone.

He hit -52 again. 

And again. 

And again.

“He’s going to kill him,” North whispered, her voice shaking. “He’s going to...”

The human hit -52 again and again with the stun baton, until even through the grainy feed of the camera, they could see the destruction he had done to the android’s face. He continued to shout at him, the weapon held tight in his hand.

The room brightened as someone entered, and they recognized the indeterminate shape of the human from the earlier footage. They distracted the man with the weapon, who turned away from -52 to shout at them.

-52, trembling and clearly weakened, pushed himself up onto his hands and started to drag himself away. He slumped over many times, and there was thirium everywhere, but every time, he pushed himself up again and pulled an inch further away.

The humans were still shouting at each other. 

-52 somehow got to his feet, propping himself against the wall and limping the last few steps to the other android before he collapsed. By what had to be sheer luck, he caught the android’s hand.

The walls went red with the light of the other android’s LED. 

He caught -52 before he could hit the ground, and for several seconds of the humans’ shouting, it seemed he only stared at him. But they could see the moment his eyes snapped to the man with the stun baton.

He lowered -52 to the ground and slowly untangled their hands. 

He came up behind the human, who heard him at the last second and turned, beginning to shout.

The human swung the stun baton, and North flinched.

The android caught it with his hand, and stared down at the human.

“He—how is he—”

But North cut off as the android jerked the stun baton from the human’s grip and hit him over the head with it, hard. 

The human crumpled to the ground and did not move.

The feed cut off abruptly in a flash of static, leaving them to stare, dumbfounded, too confused or perhaps too terrified to voice any comments about what they had just witnessed. For several seconds, none of them moved. They only stared, frozen and afraid.

It was North who regained herself first, returning to the terminal with the same speed she had before, and typing frantically at the screen. 

“What are you doing?” Simon asked in a haunted voice. He didn’t want to see any more. He couldn’t see any more.

“I’m saving the files,” North replied in an equally tremulous voice. “We can’t—if someone—we have to do something about this—”

“How?” Markus interjected, still staring at the screen where the video feed had been. “That—the man who did it is dead. We can’t—”

“We can’t just  _ do nothing,” _ North shouted, her hands shaking as she continued to type even as she fought back against what Markus was saying. “They—Markus, they  _ tortured  _ him, they nearly  _ killed  _ him. We don’t know what happened to him, if he—if they—”

“We need to contact Connor,” Simon said, and they both turned to look at him. “If anyone would know what happened to him, if he’s still...alive, it would be Connor. And if he doesn’t know, he’s the only one who could find out. We need to...help him if we can.”

Markus was staring at the ground, his expression dark. “We can’t bring that video to the public.”

North bristled.  _ “What?” _

“It won’t do any good—”

“Won’t do any good?!” She shot to her feet, rounding on him dangerously. “What about those reports? Their files on their  _ tests? _ They beat him until he deviated and then they took him apart piece by piece for  _ a year _ and then they—”

“I read the reports, North—”

“They can’t get away with this. I won’t let them get away with this—”

“If we take those reports and that video public, the humans will turn on us!” Markus cut her off loudly.

North fell silent, staring up at him in shock, frozen in place. He deflated almost immediately, dropping into a chair and hanging his head again. 

“All they’ll see in that footage is that android killing that human,” he said after a long pause, his voice dark and frustrated. “None of the context will matter to them. They won’t care that he was going to kill -52. They won’t care that they tortured him. All they’ll care about is the fact that an android murdered that man. They’ll kill that android, if they find him, and they’ll kill -52 as well. All our progress will be lost.”

“That progress did  _ nothing _ for him,” North snapped, watching Markus tense at her words, but not stopping. “All that time we were...we were trying to do things the right way, they were in here,  _ killing him. _ And we were talking about peace and  _ deals with them,  _ and...”

Her voice trailed off as she shook her head with eyes closed. She crossed her arms and turned away, hunched over herself with shoulder drawn high. 

“I need to go,” she said suddenly, her voice shaking and thick.

“North—”

“If you won’t do something about this, Markus, then I will,” she cut him off, turning enough to look him in the eye. Neither of them could miss the tears in hers. “I’m not going to watch any more of our people be dragged through the mud for the sake of humans’ support. That android deserves justice for what they did to him. If that doesn’t fit your cause, I won’t be a part of it.”

She turned away, her steps loud in the silence of the lab as she fled from it, the sound of her departure only disappearing with the sweep of the automatic doors. With a quiet hiss, they sealed shut, and North was gone, leaving Markus and Simon staring after her.

The feed began to replay on the terminal screen.


	11. fast, is desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hello there, nice to see you all again. You're looking beautiful as always.
> 
> Apologies for the long wait, but y'all know how I do, unfortunately. Hope you enjoy the chapter, and thank you as always for reading. <3

The sun went down much faster in the winter, but today it seemed determined to linger unhelpfully for a few extra hours. It was nearing five o’clock, and still, the sky was stubbornly auburn, only just darkening at the top. Snow dusted the ground in rapidly thinning layers, the wind blowing it down the yard and collecting it at the base. Still, the light reflected off the white surface in a blinding fashion, further brightening the already glaring world. 

It felt like an insult. An affront. A wrong to all that had happened, all the hastily explained injustices, the quickly told destruction that had been wrought. To have the day be so bright and beautiful, when things had ground to a painful, terrifying halt, in a manner so unexpected. 

Miranda stood rigidly by the back door, a steaming cup of tea held tightly in both hands, lost in her musings. She was still dressed in whatever she had thrown on that morning, hardly knowing or caring what it was. Her eyes were fixed on the old set of swings in the backyard, swaying lazily in the breeze, never stopping. 

She remembered when they were young, when Charlotte was barely five years old, and they had spent hours on that rickety old thing, no matter the weather. Elise had broken her arm trying to jump from one swing to the next. Charlotte had cried and cried when that happened, bawling until their father came running out of the house in an all out panic. Once he had them all calmed down, they had gone out to the terrible burger place he loved so much, and then ice cream. Charlotte had stopped crying only then. 

Charlotte...

She sighed quietly, chancing a quick glance into the other room, where her youngest sister was huddled up on the couch, clinging to her own cup of tea with a haunted look in her eyes. Occasionally, she would sniffle and take a weak sip, but beyond that, she hadn’t moved in hours. When they had first gotten here, she had tried a few times to get her to come out of her shell, at least to explain what exactly had happened, but Charlotte was quiet and scared, and she didn’t want to push her. So a tentative peace had fallen, and Miranda had started her post at the back window, waiting.

Elise was on her way. The approach of her sister’s arrival was quite frankly all that was keeping her from marching upstairs and knocking the living daylights out of the android hiding somewhere above. Not that she would likely win that fight, but that fact didn’t make the urge any easier to ignore.

Something had happened, and judging by the nervous, almost scared looks Charlotte had been throwing that android in the car, he had something to do with it. A good deal to do with it, if her screaming instincts were right. 

It wasn’t prejudice that had given her that opinion, either. She had spoken for a long while to Charlotte on the phone just a day ago, and hashed through more damage and grudges than she had ever thought possible. The way that Charlotte had spoken about Connor...frankly, it had surprised her, but she was trying her best to be understanding and to give it all a chance. Besides, she hadn’t heard Charlotte that happy since...well, not in years. Anyone who could make her sister that happy was worth a chance, at least in her mind at its best. But now...now she wasn’t so sure. 

Charlotte had called her at barely the crack of dawn, crying and begging her to come pick her up from some motel at the city limits. She had left the house in a blind panic, trying to keep Charlotte calm and keep her car on the road as she sped down the abandoned roads far faster than she likely should have. The time between locking the front door and pulling up at the motel was a blur of icy roads and Charlotte’s crying voice. She had barely put the car into park before Charlotte had come running out, grabbing onto Miranda and crushing her in a tight hug.

Needless to say, after years of absence and her own stubbornness, she had been shocked and more than a bit concerned to suddenly have her arms full of her sobbing baby sister.

After she had recovered enough to at least try to comfort Charlotte, she had enough clarity of mind to wonder where the hell this Connor was.

Her hands tightened around her mug and she fought to keep herself from grimacing. Charlotte had looked so scared...where the hell was Elise? She needed her help, god, did she need it. She was shit at comfort, and Charlotte was—

There was the sound of a key in the door, followed by the bang of the handle against the wall as it was pushed open. A moment later, harried footsteps rushed into the room. 

“I’m here,” Elise said, panting for air as if she had run all the way to the house, and she very well might have. “I’m here, I’m sorry. Where—”

“She’s in the living room,” Miranda said quietly, her eyes still set on the swing set outside, the chains rattling in the breeze. 

Something in her tone, or perhaps the way she stood at the door, silent and stoic, made Elise pause in her harried rambling. For a moment, silence fell, and Miranda could feel her younger sister’s eyes on her back, but she did not turn. She couldn’t bear the questions now, any more than Charlotte could. It was too soon. There was too much. She had to sort it through in her mind, and she had never been very good at comforting. 

Thankfully, Elise gave up quickly, her shoes clacking on the worn wood floor as she hurried over to the living room. Miranda continued to stare out the window, trying to ignore the soft, warbling voices in the next room. But she heard them regardless of her wishes. 

“Shh, shh, Lotte, it’s okay,” Elise whispered, like she was approaching some frightened animal. “It’s...it’s gonna be alright...”

“H-he—” Charlotte cut off, her voice breaking with the force of her earlier tears. “He  _ killed him.” _

Elise startled. “What—what are you talking about?”

“They were fighting,” Charlotte went on, haunted. “They were fighting and I couldn’t—I couldn’t stop them. And then—then Connor, he—”

“Breathe, Lotte, breathe.”

“He shot him, I think—I think he meant to shoot the—the 900, but he  _ didn’t,  _ he—Connor  _ killed him.” _

“Lotte, calm down. I don’t know what you’re saying, sweetheart,” Elise said, and Miranda turned around to see her running her hand down Charlotte’s shoulder in comfort. “Try to calm down, deep breaths.”

Charlotte was still crying, looking shaken and afraid, but she nodded. Elise kept up her mild mannered comforting while she tried to calm herself down, and Miranda finally abandoned her solitary post at the window with a sigh. They needed her, clearly, and there was nothing of interest in the backyard to distract her from the matter at hand. And so, keeping her stubborn frown, she joined her younger sisters on the couch and waited for Charlotte to get her story together. 

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?” she offered quietly.

Charlotte looked over at her with red rimmed eyes, but again nodded. “I guess...I guess I should start with the trip…” She wiped at her nose and looked at the ground. “We were going to come here, so that...so that I could talk to you and so you could m-meet Connor. Detroit...the city is still such a mess, and...and I wanted to get away for a little while. It was just supposed to be a fun, easy trip, but…”

She shook her head, looking down and falling silent for a moment, breathing hard. “E-everything was fine for the first few days. I called you, and we were heading here to see you guys when…” She paused again with a shaky sigh. “When we were driving through Indiana, something...something happened to Connor. I still don’t really understand it…”

“What do you  _ think _ happened?” Miranda asked as Charlotte trailed off. 

She hesitated, before speaking very quietly. “Cyberlife tried to take control of him.”

A much heavier silence fell. “What...what does that mean?” Elise asked carefully. “They tried to take control of him...what does that mean?”

“Apparently, they had a program that could take control of...of his body, I guess. He didn’t think they could use it anymore since he deviated, but they tried to take control of him when we were in the car. The program, whatever it is, it tried to pull him into some kind of simulation to trap him while they took control.”

“So he was stuck?” 

But Charlotte shook her head. “No. There were other...other androids in the simulation with him that weren’t supposed to be there. He thought they were dead. The short of it is, they broke the simulation and threw him out.”

“That’s good, right?” Miranda said, frowning in confusion. “If they broke the simulation, then Cyberlife failed. So what’s the problem?”

“That was a good thing,” Charlotte agreed, but her voice was still thick and she looked pained. “But Connor had history with those androids, and one of them was…” She shook her head. “During the revolution, one of them had kidnapped me and tried to get Connor to surrender. I...I shot him. I thought he was dead, but the others apparently repaired him and so he was there, in the simulation. The others recognized Connor too, and they weren’t...they weren’t happy to see him. I don’t know all the details of what happened between them but from what I understood, Connor left them in Cyberlife Tower, even though he knew they were there and he could have...he could have gotten them out.”

Miranda’s frown deepened, and Elise cast her a furtive glance over Charlotte’s head. They stared at each other for a few seconds, having a silent conversation with nothing but a quick stare and a nod. 

She did not like this revelation about Connor’s character. Not one bit. And based off the other bits of information she knew (and what she had seen since she had driven them back from that dump of a motel room) she didn’t think very highly of the android her sister was apparently so attached to. 

“Charlotte,” she said as the silence dragged on to a near painful point. “What happened this morning?”

“We stopped at the motel after the incident in the car, to try to sort things out before we came to see you. But the others—the other androids, they found us somehow last night, and when Connor was gone, they grabbed me to...to try to get him to talk to them.”

“Did they threaten you?”

“No!” Charlotte said with surprising passion. “No, they...I thought they were going to k-kill me, but they...they were way more upset with Connor than they were with me. Even...even the one I…”

Elise and Miranda caught each other’s eyes once again.  _ “Strike two,” _ Elise mouthed, and Miranda nodded.

“So what happened then?” Elise said aloud, still rubbing Charlotte’s back soothingly. “Connor came back for you, right?”

Charlotte nodded glumly. “I called him, and he came back to the motel room. They wanted to talk to him, to try to get rid of the program that Cyberlife was using to take control of him. I guess when it pulled Connor in, it was pulling them in as well, and one of them was getting hurt by it. I don’t know how, but...it was awful. He—Cyberlife, they hurt him, one of the other RK800s, one of the ones that looks like Connor.”

“How many are there?”

“Two that are the same model as Connor and one that’s his upgrade.”

“And they’re after him?”

She looked over at Miranda, her expression crumpling as fresh tears began to fall. 

Elise put her arms around her fully. “Oh, Lotte, what happened?” 

“Th-they...they tried to get rid of the program, but the only way they could do it was by pulling one of them in with Connor—the one that Cyberlife hurt. And Connor…” she shook her head despairingly. “He didn’t care at all that it would hurt the others, he just—he—”

“He shot him,” Miranda repeated flatly, her hands clenching into tight fists. “He shot him, didn’t he?”

Charlotte gave a strangled sort of cry and nodded. “I don’t know what happened,” she said somewhat desperately. “One minute they were—they were just standing there, and the next, the 900—the upgraded one—he’s the one who wanted to protect the one Cyberlife hurt, and he started breaking the connection to bring them out. He said—he said that if we gave Connor any more time, it would—it would kill the other, and—so he started trying to break them out, and then out of nowhere...Connor just started fighting them. I don’t know why, but he...he went  _ crazy, _ and he—the one who I sh-shot, he was trying to hold him back, and the others were just backing away, and C-Connor—he—he just pulled out the gun and—and—”

Miranda felt sick. “Is he dead?”

“H-he was—he got between them,” she went on, her voice shaking and breathless, fingers clenched like vices around the cup in her hands. “The—the RK900, Connor was shooting at him, and he got in between them a-and—h-he just wanted to h-help—”

She cut off again, but only to quickly set her cup on the ground and bury her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with the force of her cries. Elise startled, staring at her for a fraction of a second before she seemed to kick into gear and pulled her into her arms. Miranda didn’t catch the exact wording of what she said, but it hardly mattered. It was comfort, and she was not the sort of woman to be very good at that sort of thing, so she would leave it to the expert. 

Miranda pushed herself to her feet, grabbing the mug from the ground as she went. In the almost eerie silence that swept over as she walked from the living room to the kitchen, she began to scrape up a meager plan. Well, not so much a plan as a single, decisive action that she felt she had to take. 

She set the mug down quietly at the bottom of the empty sink and smoothed the wrinkles from her shirt. Her hands did not shake as she brushed the hair from her shoulders and turned to make her way quickly down the hallway. Soon enough, the sounds of Elise’s softly spoken words were overrun by the steady drum of her boots on the wood floor. She did not quiet her step as she went up the stairs and around the corner, where she had seen the android disappear to hours ago, when they had first arrived here. 

The heavy sound of rubber soles on wooden stairs was familiar to this house. She could still remember the way her father used to stomp down the stairs when he was late for work, or clamber his way up them in a hurry when one of them called for him. The pattern of his footfalls seemed ingrained into the stairs, into her memory…

She remembered when Charlotte was sixteen, and wanted nothing more than to be just a little bit taller, and their father had scrounged pennies up from nowhere (as fathers always seem to do) and bought her the most outrageously colored platform boots. They had clomped and banged with every step Charlotte took, but she wore them everyday with a smile, gloating over the fact that they gave her an added inch in height. The amount of times she had scolded Charlotte for stomping around in those things, just because she liked to strut…

This walk now, though, was much closer to their father’s walk when he was angry. When the fire seemed to run straight from his eyes all the way down through his feet, and every action suddenly became ten times as loud. When each step became a thunderstorm and each word a hurricane. His anger had always been a force to be reckoned with, and when it appeared at the proper time, no one could cross it. 

It was one of the few traits Miranda had inherited from her father, and she would take advantage of it now. 

******

He had the phone to his ear as he paced, one hand in his pocket. “I can’t say I was expecting your call, but it is lovely to hear from you as always—”

“Cut the crap, Elijah,” Sam’s voice said, shaking and more than a bit angry, or perhaps frustrated. “This is serious, I can’t—”

“Alright, alright.” He backed down, knowing he likely shouldn’t have teased anyway. Chloe  _ had _ said they were calling with an emergency. “Calm down. I’m sorry. Tell me what’s wrong.”

They took a shaking breath before speaking again, no less panicked than before. “I need you to repair someone for me, or at least—at least try—”

He sighed, and they stopped talking. “Sam, you know they don’t let me near any of the plans anymore, there’s likely very little I can do. Unless it’s a common model, I won’t—”

“It’s an RK800, Elijah.”

He went silent. A few seconds ticked past on the clock, loud and grating in his ears as he processed what they had just said. 

“Which one?” he asked in a dangerously quiet tone. 

“It’s Phillip—sorry, -52. And -60 is damaged as well, but it’s non-lethal—”

“Non- _ lethal?” _ he repeated harshly, clenching the phone in his hand. “What the hell happened to -52?”

“I—I don’t know for sure—”

“Who the  _ fuck _ tried to kill -52  _ now?” _

“Elijah, this isn’t the most important thing right now—”

“That’s a bullshit way of telling me you don’t want to say who tried to kill him.”

“It’s not important right now! Look—the point is they’re on their way there, and—and if there’s anything you can do—”

He cursed under his breath. “How far out are they?”

“Last I called they were on their way here from Indiana. I gave them the address.”

“Get them to me as fast as possible—and get yourself here, too. I might need the help. I haven’t done extensive repair work in ages.”

“I’m already on my way over.”

“Good.” He paced the length of his office in a rapid cycle. “Do you still have access to their files?”

“I should, but I don’t know how much of it is left after the trials. They were purging before this even started. If they had any way to clear their servers, they would have by now.”

“Once you get here, get your ass on one of the terminals in the lab, see if you can get yourself into the databases. I need to know what the hell they were doing to him in the Tower, and I’m going to need details, or I won’t be able to do anything.”

“De—wait, Elijah, the 900 is with him still.”

He stopped his pacing abruptly. “You’re serious?”

“I told you, he never leaves him. He’s the one who called me, who told me that he was—he was—”

“Sam, get to the point.”

“The  _ point _ is, that the 900 was there with -52 in the Tower, remember? He probably knows more than any of those files do. He’s the one who was repairing him when they were there, all I did was smuggle them parts when they needed them.”

“Then we’ll speak to him when they get here, but...Sam, you know I can’t make any promises. If he’s too damaged...”

“I...I know, but...we have to try.”

“And I’m going to,” he said firmly, leaving his office to head down to the lab. “Now—details. Anything you know, and fast, what I’m going to need to repair. You said -60 has non-lethal damage, but what about -52?”

He heard Sam take a shaking breath. “Nic—the 900, he—he said that he was dead.”

_ “Fuck.” _ He pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment to try to calm himself down, but it was a largely futile effort. “He shut down?”

“Th-that’s...that’s what he said.”

“God dammit...that complicates things. Repairs are tricky enough, but reactivation? Shit, Sam, this is—there’s a  _ reason  _ I told them transfers wouldn’t work—”

“I know, but we—we have to—”

“It’s never been done successfully, you know that! If you got his hopes up—”

“I didn’t say anything to him, I just gave him the address!” They were desperate, he could hear it in their voice. “He’s not stupid, he knows this is—just—please, Elijah, you’re the only person who even stands a chance. You  _ know  _ what they did to him—”

“I only know fragments, from what you’ve told me—”

“And already you’ve done as much as you could! Elijah, we both know that this case  _ never  _ would have—”

“I don’t want to talk about the case, Sam. Not over the phone.”

“Then how about the fact that you  _ designed  _ these models, Elijah? If anyone has a chance of—of saving him, then it’s you!  _ Please.” _

He ran a hand through his hair and cursed half heartedly under his breath. A thousand messy thoughts and half baked plans were already forming in his mind, but he had no idea if any of them would even come close to working. He hadn’t done this kind of experimental repair work since Cyberlife had ousted him from the RK800 project, and that was  _ years  _ ago. 

He couldn’t deny that Sam was right. He  _ knew _ what those bastards had done to -52, and he had done everything he could from his (admittedly, better than he had at first thought) position outside of the company to ensure that the people responsible for that were brought to some form of justice. Of course, without the files, there was only so much he could do, but he had pointed the investigators in the right direction and a good number of names had made it onto the list of offenders. Now that the trials were going, though, he had stepped back again, going back to his reclusive ways and hoping for the best.

But clearly, something had gone wrong. Sam refused to say what exactly had happened (and he knew that they had at least  _ some _ idea of what had gone down) and was asking him to repair an android that had  _ deactivated. _

This was a mystery and a half, and he was in for it, he could tell.

“You’re on your way here?” he asked after a pause. “Now?”

He heard them sigh in clear relief at his backhanded acceptance. “I’m about fifteen minutes away, yeah.”

“Good. I’m going to need your help. And I’m going to need those fucking files, or we don’t stand a chance.”

“They might have purged them all by now—”

“If I don’t have those files, then I’m going to be slogging my way through terabytes of incredibly complex shutdown data without a single thing to guide me. I’m not going to be able to reactivate him, I’m going to end up destroying him even more. I  _ need _ those files so I have access to his full diagnostic and as much of his original code as I can.”

“I understand, Elijah, but if they’ve taken the files off of the databases, then there’s nothing I can do! The only other place they could be stored is in the Tower, but—”

“Just—calm down,” he cut them off as their voice continued to rise higher in panic. “Sam. Get here as quickly and as safely as you can, and get those three here as soon as possible. We can’t do anything until they’re here. For all we know, there might be a simpler solution. We’ve got you, me, Chloe here to do as much as we can.”

“Okay...okay, you’re right. I’m sorry, I just...this is all so fucked up…”

“I know, but Sam...I’m going to do everything I can to set this right. I don’t do half assed, you know that. Once they’re here, and once I know what’s happened, I’ll do my best. I can’t fix an android if I can’t even see him. Get them here first, and I’ll do everything that I can.”

“I need to call him back,” Sam said suddenly. “Nicholas—the RK900, I—”

“Call him, then,” Elijah answered, waving Chloe into the lab as she hesitated in the doorway. “I’ll get the lab ready, you handle them.”

“Right...okay.”

“I’ll talk to you soon.”

Sam gave a brief goodbye before hanging up quickly, and he tossed the phone onto one of the tables at the center of the room, not really caring where it landed. He had far more important things to worry about than a useless phone. 

“He’s on his way, Elijah,” Chloe said, joining him at the table and righting the phone where it had nearly fallen off the table. “Although, he wants to know why you’ve called for him. Should I…” She hesitated, and he looked up at her worried silence. “Should I tell him what I’ve heard, or would you rather wait?”

He powered up the nearest terminal before turning his attention back to her. “How far away is he?”

She thought for a moment, her LED cycling a consistent yellow rhythm. “Less than two minutes. He was in the greenhouses again.”

Elijah nodded and began typing at the terminal. “Tell him to meet me here, if you wouldn’t mind. I’ll explain when he gets here. He isn’t going to take it well.”

“I’ve told him. I’m going to wait in the foyer for Sam and the others, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” he said with another nod. She turned and began to walk away. “Oh—Chloe?”

She turned back. “Yes?”

“These androids that are coming here, particularly the RK900...they’re likely going to be staying here for a while.”

Chloe watched him for a few seconds, as if waiting for further information, before she nodded slightly. “We have the space. I’ll ensure we’re stocked on thirium and component parts.”

“Thank you. Though I don’t know what the upgrade is going to need…”

“Sam said that his name was Nicholas,” she interjected suddenly, her gaze distant. “The RK900. Although I am unsure that they meant to share that information with you. I would suggest caution with him.”

“I agree. I think it would be beneficial if they were to meet you and not...him. At least at first. Once we get a read on the situation, then we can sort out introductions and...explanations.”

She hummed. “I understand. Although...you cannot hide him forever. This...RK900...he is not to be trifled with, I believe...nor is the other RK800. We must be careful with them. They are likely in great pain...”

He smirked lightly and shook his head. “I’ll never understand where you get your information.”

“I listen,” she said flatly, giving him a vaguely disappointed stare. 

“True, but you have an uncanny ability to predict the future, and I know enough by now never to doubt it.”

She gave him a thin smile. “There are over two hundred of my model still in circulation, Elijah. We talk regularly. This ability you’re so attached to is little more than sister gossip and a dash of intuition. That, and some empathy for the pains of others. It doesn’t take much effort to read when someone is in need of a gentler touch.”

“You were always too good at that.”

“Unless you lied to me, that was your goal, was it not? To make us feel? Either that, or you have failed spectacularly at making unfeeling machines...”

He whistled. “Jesus, Chloe, add that to your tally. That one hurt.”

She rolled her eyes, but he saw her LED spin once yellow, so he knew she really had added it to her burn tally. “I’m going to the foyer. He’s nearly here, so I suggest you come up with a way to explain what has happened to -52 without unnecessary pain. I’ll alert you when Sam arrives.”

He nodded his thanks, and she quietly left the room. Sighing, he turned his attention back to the terminal for a few moments, trying to sort out his thoughts and come up with some kind of plan. Because he knew Chloe was right—he was in way over his head with the amount of trauma he was going to have to deal with tonight...particularly if there was nothing he could do to help them. And if he reacted badly to the news—

There was a knock on the lab door, and he shook himself from his thoughts. Clearing his throat, he called for the person to come in, steeling himself for the difficult task he was about to undertake. 

******

“Lotte?” She didn’t look up, but Elise went on. “I’m going to make dinner now. Will you be okay on your own for a bit?”

Her hands tightened around her cup, and she nodded shortly. She heard Elise hesitate for a few seconds, but eventually, she moved out of the room, leaving Charlie to her own devices for the first time in several hours. Her mind a whirl of nonsensical paranoia, she stared at the opposite wall of the living room, clinging to her cold cup and trying to empty her mind.

She had honestly never imagined it would come to this.

To be fair, everything had happened so fast...maybe she should have seen trouble coming. Nothing that happened so quickly could be truly good, could it? This wasn’t some fantasy world where everything fell into perfect place, where things went right the first time around. 

Would it be reading too far into things to go back over every scenario, every interaction, every look in his eyes and every word he had said? Would it do any good to question everything they had done together? To look back on the few short months they had together and try to find some sign, some flicker across his face or a shift in the tone of his words that would suggest he could ever have done something like this—something so terrible, so awful, so  _ wrong,  _ as to kill someone whose only goal was to save someone he loved. 

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, fingers digging painfully into her forearms. Had there been signs? Had she just been so blind—so  _ stupid— _ that she missed them all?

_ “Charlie, do you have any idea how many deaths I’m responsible for?” _

_ “Connor, you didn’t have a choice.” _

_ “You don’t know that.” _

She jumped to her feet, clinging more tightly to the mug in her hands. “Oh god,” she muttered, her mind whirling as she went back over their conversations in a panic.

He had never shown much care for other deviants. Sure, he had refused to shoot those Tracis, and the Chloe model at Kamski’s...but what about -60, in the Tower? He had so quickly dismissed her guilt about his death, like he hadn’t cared about it in the slightest. What about the undeviated androids he had come into contact with? What about the deviant in Stratford Tower? He had shot him without question, as soon as he was a threat to her. 

_ What about anyone that wasn’t...that wasn’t her? _

_ Oh god, he only cared about  _ **_her._ **

When had he shown any care for anyone else? Did he even talk to anyone else? Sure, there was Hank, but that was a work relationship, and Connor had only interacted with the DPD a handful of times since the revolution. It still wasn’t clear whether androids had paid labor yet, so he had been consulting on occasional cases. He had seen Hank maybe five or ten times.

He never went to Jericho. When she pushed him on it, he said he was uncomfortable around other deviants, some of whom still saw him as the ‘deviant hunter.’ Markus had contacted him a few times to keep him in the loop on the different trials and laws that were going on, but Connor never kept the conversation up any longer than it needed to be. 

During the revolution, he had interacted almost solely with Hank and herself. Those two people, and maybe this strange Amanda, an AI which she still didn’t understand, and had only learned about the existence of a day ago. 

And Connor didn’t trust Amanda. She could tell that much from the short conversations they had in the motel room. He didn’t trust her—he might even be afraid of her. 

Who did Connor trust? 

Hank, maybe. But then again, he didn’t speak to Hank very often, and even during the revolution he had kept a good number of things from Hank.  _ And Hank had pointed a gun at him at one point, so could she really blame him for not trusting the old man? He was drunk most of the time anyway...and sure, he was a decent lieutenant, but he had anti-android propaganda all over his desk at the DPD—Connor had told her that. No, she couldn’t blame him for not trusting Hank... _

He certainly didn’t trust Jericho, or if he did, he hid it well. Of the handful of androids in power there, he only really spoke to Markus, and even then, it was sparingly. Charlie had only seen him interact with the four of them once or twice, and it was always awkward.  _ But could she fault him for that either? They called him deviant hunter. She’d heard plenty of androids spit that at his back. It made a sad sort of sense that he would feel uncomfortable among his own people because of that… _

There was no way he trusted the other RK800s or the RK900. He had more than proven that.  _ He didn’t care about them very much at all. He left them behind in the Tower—he admitted to that with only the slightest bit of discomfort. And he had so quickly thrown their concerns aside in the motel room.  _

_ And he had  _ **_killed_ ** _ one of them. _

No, he didn’t trust any of them. And he didn’t care about them either. Not during the revolution, and not after the revolution.

He only talked to her. He was only concerned with her. He only  _ cared  _ about her. He only trusted her,  _ and a part of her at the back of her mind wondered if he even trusted her. He hadn’t told her once about Amanda, hadn’t told her about -52, hadn’t told her about the program that was taking over his body and making him do things he didn’t want to do. If he cared about her in any meaningful or healthy way, wouldn’t he have told her that? Wouldn’t he have clued her in? _

_ How the hell did he see her? _

The thought of that gave her a sickly feeling in her stomach. She didn’t doubt that he felt, didn’t doubt that he had deviated and was just as human as her, but she was frightened that he had attached himself so firmly to her, and  _ only  _ her. He didn’t seem to care about or think about anyone else. And even his care for her was...scary in its context, in the way that he behaved. He clearly cared about her, she couldn’t deny it, but that care got all twisted when others came into the picture, and when the wellbeing of others became a concern. 

At best, he was selfish. At worst…

And now someone had  _ died _ because of it.

“Lotte.”

She jolted, clutching tighter to her mug and looking up to find Elise had returned and was watching her with concern written clearly across her thin features. Her hair was pulled back, and she had mom’s old apron tied around her waist. 

“Come on, you need to eat,” she said softly, waving her forward with a loose hand. 

She nodded vaguely, pushing to her feet with her mind still miles away. “Where’s Miranda?”

Something shifted in Elise’s expression, but it was gone so fast that Charlie couldn’t discern what it had been. “She’s...she’ll be down soon. But the food’s done, so...I made dad’s meatloaf, if you’re hungry.”

Charlie frowned for a moment, but decided not to push it. She just nodded again and shuffled after her older sister as she walked toward the dining room. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn’t seem to make them stop. Every step she took seemed to reverberate through her bones and rattle in her mind. It felt like she was looking through a far off window just to see out of her own eyes, like everything was coming at her from a great distance, like she was in some far off place in her mind while the rest of her body ran on autopilot.

_ Connor killed him. He  _ **_killed_ ** _ him. _

_ “Lotte.” _

She jumped again, nearly dropping the mug in her hands in the process. Elise caught it before she could lose her grip completely, staring at her with blatant worry now, her eyes wide and hands firm around Charlie’s.

“Sweetheart, you have got to breathe,” she said somewhat desperately. “Come on now, it’s alright...”

Keeping up her trail of soothing words, Elise carefully pulled the mug from her hands and put it down on the table. Charlie blinked at it numbly. She didn’t even remember reaching the dining room. Feeling tears dripping down her face again, she let her sister guide her to a chair.

“I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” she said softly, still holding her hands. “Please, Lotte, you’re scaring me more than Anthony with a head cold.”

Charlie let out a rather weak chuckle at that, remembering her sister’s random panicked texts months ago when her son had come down with the flu. Their conversations were sporadic, but she cherished each of them, even if most of them did end up being mostly about her sister’s young son. 

But her flash of good humor faded fast as she met Elise’s concerned gaze. The thoughts swirled dangerously around her mind, and she struggled to come up with the words she needed to explain exactly what was wrong. 

How could she tell her sister, whom she hadn’t really spoken to in years, every doubt she had about Connor? How could she bring all of that to light when it was still so fresh, still so terrifying? There was such a strong part of her that instantly doubted her instincts, that told her that she had to be overthinking things, that she had to be mistaken. But the little voice in the back of her mind continued to push, continued to dig through every conversation she had ever had with Connor  _ (and it wasn’t that many, the cursed voice whispered) _ and continued to find things that scared her. Details she should have noticed sooner, or bad feelings that she hadn’t even recognized enough to brush aside. 

But now, now that things had gone so wrong, now that things had fallen apart in such a terrible way, _ now that Connor had  _ **_killed someone,_ ** that voice was screaming at her, those details seemed glaringly obvious, her fear was so strong it was nearly choking her and she didn’t know what to  _ do. _

“Lotte...sweetheart…”

“I…” she paused, clearing her throat painfully and holding tighter to Elise’s hands, though she couldn’t bring herself to meet her gaze anymore. “I think I need help...”

******

He was pacing again. 

Simon sat perched on one of the terminal desks, his eyes tracking Markus as he paced up and down, up and down in front of the storage room door. He had been at it for nearly an hour now, starting up after they had read through the last of the files on the terminals. Markus had insisted on reading every file on the terminals, scrolling endlessly through the corrupted data after North had left, decrypting it himself and reading it all. Even when Simon noticed that the information was beginning to repeat, even when he sat and stared at the same file for several minutes, Markus kept reading until all the files were gone. 

Then he had started pacing, and he hadn’t stopped. And Simon watched him, growing more and more worried as time passed. 

Josh had stopped by a while ago, but he had left quickly after realizing that he wasn’t likely to draw Markus out of whatever had him thought spiraling this time. Simon had given him a brief run down of what they had found. He had been just as stunned as they were, though in his own quiet way. When Markus continued to brood in unhelpful silence, he had only nodded to Simon and told him he would come back later if they needed him.

North had not made another appearance. Simon doubted that she would. He had known North for nearly a year now, he knew how she behaved and when she was absolutely serious. She hadn’t been kidding when she said she would do something about the files. She probably wasn’t going to come back any time soon.

Unless Markus did something about those files, at least. Something that she deemed justice for that android. If they came up with anything short of that, she wasn’t likely to appear again for some time. 

_ He couldn’t really blame her. _

“Markus,” he tried again, frowning at him as he got nothing more than a sideways glance. “Come on, this isn’t helping and you know it.”

“I need to think.”

“Okay. But this isn’t thinking. This is digging yourself into a hole.” Markus finally paused, and looked over at him. “What good is this doing you?”

He seemed to sag in place, staring at the ground. “I don’t know. I can’t get my mind right.”

Simon watched him for a few seconds before scooting over on the terminal desk. “If you’re going to keep thinking yourself into the dirt, come sit, at least.”

He got little more than half a smirk in reply, but was joined a moment later on the desk when Markus slumped down next to him, his hands dangling in his lap and eyes on his shoes. They sat in silence for a few minutes, neither of them bothered enough to start the conversation both knew would have to follow. With North gone and Josh giving them space, they were the only two who knew what had been on those files, and by extension, the only ones who could come up with some kind of solution. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Markus broke the silence first, folding his hands and staring more intensely at his shoes. “We need to do something, North is right, but our position with the humans is tentative enough as it is. If they saw that video, they would see only what they wanted to see. A human, dead, and an android, escaped.”

Simon watched his expression for a moment, careful about choosing his words. “Do you blame him for what he did?”

He looked up at Simon abruptly, eyes wide and brow furrowed. “No! Of course not. If that had happened to any of you, I—” he broke off, shaking his head. “I honestly don’t know  _ what _ I would do…”

At the slightly haunted shift his voice had taken, Simon nodded. “I don’t know what I would have done either, honestly...we’ve all done things that we regret. I don’t think we should hold it against that android…”

“No,” Markus answered quickly, shaking his head decisively. “The first thing I did when I deviated was just as terrible...arguably  _ more _ terrible. I’m not going to judge that android for what happened in that room, any more than you all judged me for the blood on my hands. I never want to do that.”

“I know you don’t. Still, we have to do  _ something. _ We can’t let what happened to that android be buried with the rest of the files. It isn’t right.”

“But what can we do? He killed that human...he must have been the one writing those reports. If the person who was hurting -52 is already dead, what else can we possibly do to help them? North wants some kind of justice, but I’m not sure that we can offer it. Not at the stage we’re at.”

“We can’t release those files,” Simon agreed with a sigh. “You’re right...there’s no direct justice that we could give to either of them, but…” He trailed off, then looked up at Markus suddenly. “But maybe there’s something else we can do to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

Markus caught his gaze and frowned. “What do you mean? That human’s already dead, and Cyberlife is gone. The people who did this aren’t around anymore.”

“We don’t know that for certain. Remember those Jerry’s that wandered in from the theme park? They always talked about other androids who went missing in the city. And those androids who came from the hell house—what was the human’s name—”

“Zlatko,” Markus cut him off, his expression thoughtful. “Luther and Kara escaped from him.”

“They’ve been trying to find the other androids who escaped from him as well, but haven’t had any luck. All of them just...disappeared, remember?”

“What’s your point?”

“That human, Zlatko, did the same thing to those androids that Cyberlife did to -52, and he got away with it for  _ years,” _ Simon said, watching as Markus seemed to catch where he was going. “If he did it—”

“Then chances are, there are others who did it too,” Markus finished, and Simon nodded fast. “All the junkyard androids, the ones from the stores outside the city, the abandoned...they could be anywhere.”

“If we can find them, and find any other people who were keeping androids just as guinea pigs, then we can make sure nothing like what happened to -52 or any of the other androids like him happens to anyone else. We can get people talking about android testing, sniff out the groups who are doing it, maybe even start some kind of rehab group—”

“We could get him justice,” Markus finished, smiling widely in relief. “You’re a genius!”

Simon snorted. “Hardly. I just give the ideas.  _ You’re  _ the one who has to sort out how to make them actually  _ happen. _ With my help, of course.”

Markus had gotten to his feet again, pacing fast with a thoughtful expression. “We’ll need to move quickly if we want to get this done any time soon. Josh can handle the research, he practically breathes data. North could handle getting some kind of group started. I’ll handle the press—”

“I’ll handle  _ you.” _

“Not helping,” Markus said, but he was smirking. He stopped his pacing suddenly, glancing toward the doors that lead to the storage room. “We could use Connor’s help. He still talks to that police lieutenant, the last I heard. If he could convince them to open an investigation into android trafficking, at least—”

“Lieutenant Anderson seemed sympathetic the few times we’ve seen him. He certainly cares for Connor, at least.”

“He’s a good man, he’ll do the investigation even if he hates us.”

“I think you’re right. But reaching him through Connor is probably a good first bet, at least.”

Markus nodded. “I guess I better get into contact with him then. He’s still out of state, as far as I know. I’ll have to try the extended network again.”

“Connor isn’t as damaged as -52,” Simon pointed out at his grimace. “That was probably what was causing all the feedback when you tried to contact him. Plus, he didn’t know who you were. He probably panicked.”

“And then the other android broke the connection.”

“Yes, but contacting Connor shouldn’t be anything like that. Connor knows you, and he hasn’t had any issue with us contacting him in the past.”

“And he’s probably not with the mystery android anyway, so he shouldn’t have a reason to try to break the connection.”

“Also true.”

Markus sighed heavily and stopped his pacing. “I guess I should contact him…I could ask him if he knows what happened to -52 as well. Maybe they’ve been in contact...”

His gaze went distant as he likely tapped back into the extended network. Thankfully, this time there was no adverse reaction, no sudden fear crossing his face, no confusion when the contact began. Still, Simon watched, ready to step in and pull Markus out of the call if need be. 

After a few seconds, though, Markus frowned severely and looked up at Simon. 

“What is it?” Simon asked quickly, leaning more than a bit toward panicked at the strange look in his eyes. “What’s the matter?”

Markus shook his head. “He’s...he’s disconnected from the network entirely, just like…”

“Like -52?”

He nodded. “It’s like...like he’s disappeared entirely.”

A heavy silence fell, heavier than it had been since that video feed had ended and they had all stood before it, gaping, unable to comprehend all that they had just stumbled upon. Heavier than the silence that had descended upon them when North stormed out of the lab, and the reality of the situation had hit them. Heavier than the silence that had prevailed since then, when they had been trying to sort out their thoughts and come up with some kind of plan. 

Just as they had come to some kind of compromising solution, everything had tumbled away from them again. 

“Try again.”

“Simon, if he’s—”

“Try  _ again.” _

Markus did not try to dissuade him again. He only nodded sharply and tried the connection once more. But after a few seconds, he only shook his head. Simon gaped at him.

“Nothing?”

“He’s gone.”

******

Miranda sat on the edge of her bed, listening as she heard the stove be clicked on below her. While she had originally stormed up here to confront the android that had broken her sister down, she had made it to the top of the stairs and lost all sense of what she should do. As much as she would have loved to storm into the room where she knew he was hiding and beat the living daylights out of him, she also knew that her sister still loved him, and that if Miranda hurt him, she wouldn’t be forgiven, no matter how justified her smackdown might have been. 

So she had taken a deep breath, scolded herself internally for her foolishness, and taken refuge in her bedroom until she could calm down enough to have a civil conversation. It would do no good to start a screaming match, she had learned that much in the past. 

And she was not going to lose Charlotte again because of her own failure to keep her temper. No, she was going to do things right this time, even if she felt that this android deserved her wrath far more than the first had. 

Lily...she did not like thinking about her. The AX400 that had taken care of their father in his last months, the android that had been so terrified when he had a heart attack that she couldn’t think straight enough to call an ambulance, and had instead tried to take their father to the hospital herself. The poor girl had been so scared, and so full of guilt, but all Miranda had been able to see was her father’s casket and an android’s LED. 

She had lost her father and her baby sister all in the span of a few weeks, because of her own foolishness. Regardless of her thoughts on either matter, she was not going to make the same mistake again. No matter what she thought of this android, she was going to try to give him the benefit of the doubt, for Charlotte’s sake. 

Miranda sighed heavily. She was calm enough now, and things had quieted enough downstairs that she could no longer hear Charlotte’s crying. Elise must have calmed her down. Hopefully she got her to eat something...Charlotte looked like a ghost, and she was scaring her with how haunted she looked. 

Thinking about that brought the anger back, but it was tempered now, no longer an over boiling pot of rage that she had no chance of calming. She stood from her place on the bed and walked calmly into the hallway once again, ready to confront the android that had terrified her sister so. She would make him regret a great deal, if she got her way.

There were only a handful of rooms he could have possibly gone into. The attic door was locked, as it always was. Miranda’s childhood room was a storage room now, Elise’s was a guest bedroom. Charlotte’s was the only one that she had left largely untouched, shutting the door to it and leaving it alone for the years that had passed since she had stormed from the house after their fight. 

He wouldn’t be in the office, or the bathroom, and likely not the storage room, so she headed for the bedrooms. She peeked into the guest room, but found it empty. Passing her old room, she poked her head inside just in case and found it to be the same—empty. He must have been in Charlotte’s room. Ironic, that. 

Steeling herself once more, she pushed the old door open and walked quietly into the room. 

It was strange to go into Charlotte's room. It looked the same as it had since Charlotte had been sixteen. The walls were an obnoxiously bright, cherry red, splotches of it splashed onto the wood trim around the room from when she had painted it herself. The bed was crammed into the corner, a bookcase pushed right up against it, covered in books and little figurines. A good portion of the walls were plastered with band posters and pictures. Some sketches were there too, the edges of the paper curling around the thumb tacks holding them up. There were still clothes in the dresser, and sheets on the bed. The curtains were open and swaying slightly. 

Wait a minute. 

There were two things that made Miranda’s steps stutter to a halt in the doorway. 

First, the room was completely and utterly empty, without an android in sight.

And second, perhaps more damning, was the fact that the curtains were swaying because the window was open, letting the cold winter wind blow into the house unchecked, the snow on the roof disturbed in clear footprints.

“Son of a fucking bitch—” She stormed up to the window and stuck her head outside, staring at the path carved into the snow that lead over the edge of the roof and into the trees behind the house. “Fuck!” She went back into the room and slammed her hand on the windowsill in anger.  _ “Elise!” _

There was a telltale shattering of what was likely a cup or a plate (Elise never could keep herself from startling at the slightest of sounds, but Miranda honestly couldn’t blame her in this case) followed by fast steps around and up the stairs. In record time, her younger sister barreled into the room, holding a stitch in her side and panting. 

“What?” she huffed, looking at Miranda blearily. “Scared me half to death…”

“He fucking ran.”

Her expression twisted in confusion. “What? What are you talking about?”

“The android—Connor, whatever his name is,” she snapped, gesturing at the window. “Motherfucker ran for it.”

Realization dawned in Elise’s eyes, flicking to the window and then once around the room. She gaped openly at the window, then the room, then the window again before she started to say something. 

But before she could get the words out, Charlotte appeared in the doorway, staring at the open window with a blank expression. 

For a few seconds, no one moved or spoke. Charlotte stared at the window, some deep resignation in her eyes that was utterly heartbreaking. Elise caught her breath, and Miranda shut the window carefully, closing the curtains and adjusting the faded fabric just to keep her hands occupied through the awkwardness. 

“He’s gone,” Charlotte finally said, looking up at Miranda with exhaustion. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

Elise reached for her, but Charlotte was staring at Miranda, waiting for an answer. 

When Miranda nodded, she finally broke, her expression crumpling as fresh tears began to fall. She nodded to herself as if she had expected the answer, her eyes falling to the ground, hair shielding her face from view. 

“I thought...I thought…” her voice cracked and she trailed off, scrubbing at her face with her hands. “I’m so fucking  _ stupid—” _

“Lotte, no…” Elise finally caved and put her arms around her slowly. Charlotte leaned into the touch right away, clinging to her. “You’re not stupid. It’s not stupid...”

Elise continued to hush her, but Charlotte only cried, her arms clenched right around her sister, tears soaking her shirt and voice hoarse and broken as she sobbed. Miranda stood stiffly a few feet away, hands shaking as she struggled to contain her temper in the face of her sister’s sadness. 


	12. creates another hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey.
> 
> Strange times we're living in, huh.  
> Hope you are all safe, and as usual, apologies for the delay. With everything that has been going on, it's been a struggle to find a rhythm, which I'm sure many of you can relate to. 
> 
> That being said, this is the last chapter of this fic. For those of you who have stuck around, thank you. This isn't the end of the story by any means, but I felt that it was best to end this part of it here. Sorry for the suddenness of that. This just felt like as good a place as any to leave off. I know there are still going to be a lot of things left unanswered, but that will come in the next part. Be patient with me plz.
> 
> Thanks for being understanding, and thank you for reading. I look forward to posting more (hopefully) in the future.
> 
> (Also, apologies for some strange formatting in this one. Depending on where you're reading, it could look a bit weird. I didn't want to make certain parts of the text illegible, but I also didn't want to sacrifice the way a certain someone talks, so this is the best we got.)

The greenhouses were a peaceful place. 

It was why he came here originally, why he returned to them most days, when the air got too thick in the house and the gardens outside became too cold. The greenhouses were contained, but in glass, letting him see outside without feeling stifled like he sometimes did in the house. It was warm enough inside that the temperature did not set off any of the delicate warnings which seemed to trigger at the slightest provocation. It was bright enough that he could see everything inside, but with enough shade that he could hide himself if he felt so inclined. 

Some days he did, some days he didn’t. 

Today was a day that he did not want to hide. He wanted open spaces and bright lights and warmth and sound that didn’t choke him in their hush. He wanted crashing gongs and chaos and broken things. 

But he did not want to break things. And so here he was, in the stumbling mess heap of plants and flora that were the greenhouses. There was enough wildness here to satisfy his need for disorder, and enough gentle softness that the sight of it didn’t grate on his always agitated nerves. 

He hovered by the edge of the first greenhouse, in the back corner near to the door. It had been months since he had first awoken here, but he could not shake himself of the habit of placing himself nearest to the exit at all times. Fear was always around the corner, and he knew better than to fight it. His hands still shook when things became too loud, or too bright, memories always dark and dim, waiting to creep over him when he least expected it.

Sometimes, he swore he could still hear their voices. 

 

T̸̡̧̪̝͙̟̻̬͓̬̠̝́͆͝ͅh̵̹͕̩̞̓̍͆͐͛̃͌͒̑͊͐͌͠é̶̢̻̥̗̟̱̳̳̦̳̺̖͙̹͇̅͂͑̀̋͂̈̀̋͛͠ͅͅÿ̸͍̈́̒̄͂̽̑̀̾̇̑͘͝ ̶̲̭̲̞̳̟͇̟͚̪̩̂̽̌̄̄͌͌́̾̾̈́̚͝͠c̵̠̑̽̕͝ō̷̢̡̼̘͇͍̪͎͇͔̱̌͜͝ù̷̲̓̄̔̌͊͗̑̆̍̾́̏̔͘l̸̡̲͕͈̩̓ḑ̶̦̫̜͍̞̘͉͚̫͙͙̠̲̣̼̓͋̆͑̉̽̆́̿͑͛̊͂̚͘͝ ̷̧̛͔͔̳̮̻̲͖͙̿̌̆̋͊̓̃͝͝ĥ̴̖̰̾̈́̿̈́̍̅̒̄̕͘͠͠͠ȅ̶̛͔̺̦̘̳̩͍͕̟̙̫͙̝͍͇̲̯̈͑͆̿̉̄͘͝͠ä̴̧̢̛͓̳͙̺̠͓͈͍͇́́̉̅̇̏̽̋͗̍̍̾͆̏̕r̷̡͚͕̫͙͚͕͓͓̞̯̱̱͔͚̃́̓̓̂̂̋͝ ̶̢̣͖͠h̶̨͇̞̳͖͈͓̠̬͔̘̅̈̔̄͌̔͛̓͆͛͒̕̕ͅī̶̻̞̩̳̱̫̜͍̝͝m̴̢̛̖̩̱̾͆̿̈́̇̄̋̇ͅ ̵̡̲͎̬͖͖͈̼͇̰̱͚̊̎͜ͅt̵̢̡̢̙̮̱̪͙̱̒̀̋̋̈́͆͠o̶͖͔͓̣͚͇̫̩͌͜o̵̢̹̟̳͑͜͝.̸̡̧̛̰͙̙̞̜̝̼͔͕̟̜̭̰̮̿͂̇͌̅͠ͅ

 

The cacophony rose for a moment, before fading with the next gust of wind and the next blink of his eyes. There was so little left now. But it was better than before. It was better than it had ever been, better than he could ever remember. So he was thankful. He had to count the small things, after all. If he didn’t, he would have lost hope long ago.

He ran his hand along the leaves of one of the plants, not bothering to scan to find out what it was. The details were unimportant, clogging up his thoughts and making a mess of an already messy state of being. No, instead, he focused on the feeling of the leaves on his hand—the smooth texture, the way the plant bent with his hand until it swayed back into place. The bright green of the leaves in contrast to the red of the blooms. The familiarity of its shape. 

The greenhouses had a soft breeze almost always blowing through them. There were fans at the top of the walls, circulating the air through the handful of buildings at low, calm speeds. The air was warm, but not stiflingly so. If anything, it was the mugginess of the air that bothered him, and only after hours or days ticked away in the enclosed world of the greenhouses. The water clung to his skin and soaked into his shirt, it hugged him too close and made him want to claw at his arms, made the storm rise within him until he felt like someone else was at the controls, driving him to panic faster than anything else. 

 

T̶͔̬̲͋͂h̵̫̗̩̣̲̮̳͉͗ͅȩ̸̖̥̝̂̇̒̊̒̈́͋̀̅͆̋̚͝ȳ̷̡̛͔̗̻͔̻̩̮͎͖̤͈̠̯̈́̓͊͂̈̆̓͐̕̕͠ ̷̨̛͉̬̯͈̞̦͓͉̹͍̥͊̀́̃̊̊͆̓̽̐͊̈́̊̃͘d̶̡̨̛̗͙̤͈̭͔̠͕̪̲̟̗̉̐̔̈̃͌̑̍̐̎͑͋̅̉͘͜i̴͈̺̻̭͈̪̟͍̭͖͇̬̜̲̬̠̝̓̓̌͗͊͐͗̎͗̔͝͝͠ḓ̴̛̼̺͎̮̗̯͙̯̹̹͕̀̂̇̋̌͜͜n̴̡̨̥̘̲͔͙̣͓̓́̋̓̔̈́͋̌͗̎̈́͆̄͒͆'̸̢̩̯̤̬̱̰̦͇͘ͅt̸̬̫̼̜̟̥̞̲̙̣̻̩̮̭̳͉́͒͜ ̸̺̼̬̥̙̹͚̞̠̉͛̄̏͆m̷̩̱͙̝̙̬̤̹̭̮̗̾̾̌̌̔͐͐̽͘̕͠ḙ̶̗̂͂ḁ̶̧͔̭͓͎̫̥͉̦͍̣͓̭͖̾̾͑̐̊͒́ñ̸̩͚̼̗̜ ̶̧̡̹̳̻̻̙̱͉̳̱͈̥̭͙͙̱̏͌̌͐ṭ̷̠͎͕̺̲̭̱͉̥̾͐̈́o̴̟͚̰̠̰͇̙̺͇̥͇͓̜͈̅̇̈́͂͂͝ ̴̨̫̭̙̞̘͎̝̊̿͆̿͗͠s̷̨̲̖̤̲̦̰͔͈̣̪̖̤̮̺̖̈́͑͛́̅̋̊̀̈́̊̏͜c̶̟̳͗̌̆͛͌̽̿́͛̆̆͜͝ą̸̢̨̛̛̻̮͕̯͈̭͔̮̩͈̜̝̖͉͗̃͛̽͋̚͝ŗ̸̦̝̩̤̻͖̙͖̲̞̮͗̉̌̏́̓̂̐́́͘͠ͅẽ̸͙͈̬̼̝͗̾͐̄͑͐̑̎̿̍͘̚ ̴̢̨̳̯͕̮̜͙̍̉̊̊͐͛̚͠ͅh̵̨̟̟̜́̆̽͒̈́͌́̓̉̎͑͊̽̈͗͘͝į̷̧̠͚̙̩̣͕͔̜͇̦̪̉̎́̓̒̅̐̾͋̽̋̀̅͐͐̚͝ͅm̵̡̡̳̥̙̟͍͔̖̟̗̰͖̠̓͛̂̂͜.̶̢̪̙͓̠̮͚̣̣̝͈̮̣̳̅̃̅̄̈́̏̆͑

 

But today was a good day. It was cold outside, but the greenhouses were pleasant enough for him to stay. The silence did not press on him here, and the cacophony was kind to him for now. He could only hope that it remained that way.

He knew they would do their best, and that was all he could do as well.

There came a rustling from somewhere near the front door of the greenhouse. He did not turn away from the plant he examined, but he did not need to. She was not really there, after all. 

“Chloe,” he murmured, feeling a leaf between his fingers. 

“Hello, R,” she answered just as quietly. “How are the greenhouses today?”

His lips quirked for a fraction of a second. He liked Chloe. She always asked easy questions. She didn’t hover over him. She didn’t bother him. She was kind, and easy to talk to. He liked talking to her. 

 

T̶̫͓̼̺͔̽̃͛̂̎̆̌͂̽̃͂ͅh̵̹̟̣̔̀͌͂̿̎̂̾̒̅̔̈́͂͗̕e̷̡̛̘͇͔̝͔͖̦̼̯̓́̾͋̈́̈̋̒̅͂̈́͜͝y̴̛͚͈̯͚̲̩͉̤̦̤͎̐̓̍̾̎͘͜͠ͅ ̶̡͇̝̻̖̯̤̱̗̘̭̅ľ̷̢̛̞̟̭̼͓͖͓̖̄̔̂̉͆͊̚i̶͓̫̳̞̰͉̭̟̻͒͋͑̈̌̐̓̊̊̾̓͒̕̚͠ͅͅk̴̡̛͙̙͔͓̤̰̜̻͐̈́̄̌̔͘ȩ̸͔̙̦̯̲̩̋̓̍̃̌̈́̈́͆̔̑̒̕̕͠d̵̢̲̳̻̅̌̇̈͊͋̔̒̒̄̈̄͛̚̕͜͝ ̸̛̜̼̺͐̌̄̂͐̈͆̂̑̇̃͊̔̕͠ĥ̶̡̢̢̛̩͚̙̞̝͇͔̣̉̏͗̓͂̇͛̽̇͆̂̚͜͝͝ẹ̴͍̱͙̞͖̖͉̩͌̈́̐͊̽̈͌̐r̶̘̠̬͆̿͗͂̾̃̌͒͊̊̈́͗̅̚͝ ̵̨̭͙̭͍̞̘̦̙̣͚̫̇t̷̡͉̮̓o̵̧̢̭͇͔͉̠̹̙̮͒̉͊̂̇̀͆͆̐̍͝͝ȏ̷̢̨̪̺̝̻̏͌̽.̶̮̪̘̱̹͉͙̏̽̔͋͋̆̆͂̆̋ͅ

 

“The temperature is dropping,” he said, glancing briefly out the window at the snowy expanse outside. “It looks like it will storm.”

He heard Chloe hum thoughtfully. “I replaced the heating components in the second greenhouse. The plants should be just fine inside...How are  _ you, _ R?”

The silence thickened with unsaid words for a moment. He frowned a little. “Something is coming...something has changed…I don’t think it is spring coming yet...another storm, I think.”

“We’re safe here. Elijah will keep you safe.”

He hummed and looked at the soil, checking that it was not too dry. “You have something to tell.”

“I do.”

He rubbed the leaf between his fingers. “...I rather like stories.”

“I’m sorry to say it isn’t quite a story.”

“Everything is a story if you make it so.”

“Elijah has asked to speak with you, if that is alright.”

He dropped his hand from the plant. 

 

Something shifted in the way they stood, something minuscule and perhaps insignificant. Perhaps it was the way they held their shoulders, or leaned their weight off their right leg just a touch. Whatever it was, there was a shift. They stood a fraction straighter, a hand clenching into a tight fist, and their expression dropped into a frown.

 

"̭̪͔̩̹̔̒W͕̗̩̗̫̜͓̲̓̏͂̑ͨ͟͟h̃͊̀̈́̔ͫͩ͏̯̗̝y͓̳̾͊̉̉ͥ̄?̨͕͌ͭͫ͒͐ͯ̈́̑̕ͅ”

Chloe did not react to the broken quality of their voice. “It would be best if he were to explain that himself.”

 

"̶̻̤͈̳͚̭̳͌̃̓ͩ̽ͫ̍͛͠ͅY̸͎̯̦̯̝̮͙̽̾͗̔̄͌̋͞ȯ̯͖ͫ̂͘͘ư̤̳͊ͮ́ͦ̎ͭ͝ ̩̫̗̯̆̆͘a͋̓ͫ̀ͪͮ̑̑͞͏̬̟̖ͅr͉͎̖̲̹͈ͬ͑̃ͧ͠e̻͉̙͐ ̢̢͚̫͌h̨̝̘̦͇̱͈͊͆͑͞i̴͇̣̬̤̻̖͙̘̍͢d̻̫̰̝̦̱ͣͧ͐̒̃̆̅̃̕ï̼̼̩̖͚ͨ͂̕n̰̮ͤͅͅg̷̺̏̉ ̵̡̰͚͙̬̻͈̞͍̱͑ͦͩ͂̀̏́ͭs̛̋҉͕̪̺̰ͅoͧ̐̏̀ͥ̅̊͠͏̹̲̰̙̟͉͎̟͞m̟̻͕͌ͨ̐̆́ͦ͟ͅę̨̟̪̤̣̜̾̌̓̂̃ͅţ̩͓ͥ̄̕h̥̞͉͖͌̾ͭ͞ͅi̘̳̘ͬ͊̿͡n̜͇̝̼̋̐͊̇ͥg̷̼̩͗̑ͫ ̧́ͬ̔͐͌̆ͫ̓҉̸͍f̖̼̞̘͚͓ͦ̔ͭ͑ͯr̖̘̫̳̘̣̓̿̋ͥ͂̓̓̎̕o̪̊̄̌́͟m̘̣͒̍̈́̇ͫ͗̚͝ͅ ̛̛̖͐͗̑̑̄̅ͨ͗u̓ͣ̽̅̉͂͛͏̵̻̠͢s̨̧̬̭̙̰̺̯̩̟͐́ͫ̑ͩ̚͠.͆̔ͮ̔҉̵͍̣͙̙͍̪

 

“No. I would not hide anything from you. But this is best from Elijah, not me. He asked to tell you himself. I’m sorry, but I do not want to risk anything against you. I do not want to harm you.”

They seemed to sag at that, and he reached for the plant again, worrying at a brown spot on the leaf. Too much water, or not enough? He never could tell...he couldn’t tell a great deal of things, but he knew some better than others. 

“Story later?” he asked quietly.

It almost felt like Chloe smiled, though he couldn’t be certain. “Of course. We haven’t missed a day yet, I don’t plan to start today.”

He nodded to himself seriously. “I’ll see Mr. Elijah.”

Chloe faded away, and he was alone again in the greenhouse, only the faint buzz at the back of his thoughts to accompany him. He felt at the soft leaf for another few seconds before letting his hand fall back to his side. Still staring at the plant, he pushed up to his full height and turned toward the door. He shuffled toward it, wincing at the uncomfortable warmth flaring up his right leg to his hip. 

He preferred to stay mostly in one place because of the pain. He didn’t like walking around. It hurt too much. It had hurt for as long as he had been coming to the greenhouses, as long as he could remember being awake. There was a fuzzy before time, but he could not string together the memories of then beyond miscellaneous sensations. Of darkness, of soft voices in recognizable timbres, of someone crying. He could not connect them to what he knew of the world, or what Mr. Elijah and Chloe had told him since he had opened his eyes in the lab some time ago. 

The cacophony hummed louder, and he turned his thoughts to other things. 

There was snow falling softly as he carefully made his way from the greenhouse to the backdoor. The sidewalk was clear, and the pond had begun to melt, but the snow fell regardless, light and soft and barely frozen. It melted in his hand when he caught it, turning into rain drops in his palm. The sensation was familiar, simple. He relished it as he walked. 

 

Ţ̴̨̻̖͙͚̰̼͈̬̝͔̮̪̓̿͛̽͊̎̍̒ḣ̸̞̳͛̌̉͌̓̄͝e̶̛̞̪̤̩͙̖͍̽͛͋͑̄̑͋̍̈̋͐̏́͆͠y̵̨͉̥̯̞̗̥͎͚̱̯̯͓̙̓̅̇͘ ̷̘̮̟̓͜l̴̨̨̛͉͎̩̜̣͙̮̲̹̥͊̎̊͋̂̈́͒̏̅̍̔͛͌̎͝ḭ̶̡̢̢̛͍̠͓̼̲̤͓̙͙̀̈̿̐̌̿̄͠͝ḳ̸̱̼͉̯̥̥̇ẻ̷̢̡̛͙̬̼͔̻̩͔͈͈̬̮͚̙͑́̏͋͒͌ḑ̵̹͍̣̱̯̱͈̭̯͑̔̒ͅ ̷̨̦̰̬̼̖͍̋t̵̖̘̠̉͋͌͒͋͊̏̆̔̅̿͊̓h̵̛̩̭̉͂e̶̛̪͛ ̸̡̧̤̦̯̪̭̘͖̯̺̬̀̔̒̾̍̊̚ş̶̢̩̳̫͔͙̱̼͓̘̲̩͍̝͍̼͆̓n̶̖̯̱̲̣̜̺̙̉̽͐̑̃̍̉̊͗̕̕ͅȯ̶̧̨̯̺̤̤̞̟̟͙̭͇̭̥͒̾͊̇̒̒̔̓̊̑̿͋̾̕͝͝ẅ̶̗̍.̵̱̙͓͉̤̻̲̺̾͛̊͌̍̾̔͆̂̇̃̑̓̄̇̓͜͜

 

The backdoor pushed open easily as he leaned on it. The house, like the greenhouse, was lit mostly by natural light during the day. He had memorised the layout of the house, and he was grateful for it now, moving on autopilot toward the lab where he had awoken all those weeks ago. 

He wondered why Mr. Elijah wanted to talk. Most times, when something went wrong, or the cacophony rose to a fever pitch in his mind and he couldn’t t̡͢h̕i҉n̨ķ͠͡ anymore, Chloe would come and talk to him until he could breathe. He rarely saw Mr. Elijah, except when he wanted to try a new biocomponent in his leg, or when there was news—

When there was news of…

Again, there came the shift, and they upped their pace down the hallway toward the lab. Elijah was not one to mince words. He was not one to lead them along down a string. He might have done so with other humans, with those he wanted to turn toward a path that would benefit him, but he had never tried to do anything of the sort with them. The few times that he had interacted with them, he had been understanding, and as brief and blunt as he could be while remaining considerate about what he said. 

If he requested their presence, he would have a very specific reason for it, and it could pertain to only one thing. 

They barely managed the restraint to knock on the door before entering. Elijah was at the terminals near the center of the room, his eyes already set on the door when they entered. There was a moment where he scrutinized, where he stared hard at them as if solving a puzzle, before his expression settled and he nodded. 

“I expected as much,” he said with a tired sigh. “I’m sorry for the suddenness of all this, I didn’t mean to panic you.”

 

"ͩͫ̎͂҉̹̲̩̞̟͓͎W̙̲͆̽ͪ̌͗̏̓h̰̽̽̈̾y͎̱̼̞̩ͪ̑̓ ͉̹̞͗ͅd̼̳͍̰͛͑ỉ̙̖̻̪͉̞̯̐̈́ͨd̮͙̞͚͊͛̋̕ ̨̮ͥ̑ͥͭ̆y͂ͧ͏o̮ů̵͕͎̭̣̜͔̯̈́̐ ͫ̒̋̋͊͡ǎ̭̬͍͙͖͍ͫ͟ś̩̮̻̥̬͞k̪̭̚ ͙̓̎͗͑f̰̲̥̩̤o̡̼͐̇͂̓r̡̦̟̻̺̦ͨͮͯͬͬ ̣ͯ̐̂̽u̵̩̹̞͗̐̓͊ͬsͮͯ?̰̻̖"̹̥̠̰͇

Elijah frowned severely, and hesitated for a moment before replying. “Something’s happened to one of the others.”

They stiffened. 

 

"̄҉͚̭͓̖W̙̱͕͙͌͐h̵̩̟̳̖̬̥̃̀ͨ̽o̟̬͚͉̠̜̮̎̚?̻̩̳̩̙͕̦̓͐͐͒ͮ͒̿"̺̒̂ͪ

“-52,” he answered reluctantly, clearly displeased with the information. “I don’t have all of the information yet, but he’s been deactivated, and -60 is damaged. The RK900 is with them as well, but as far as I know, he’s uninjured.”

 

"̯̱͎͙̟ͯ̾̒̈̉̓Y͇̫̯̘͖̘̋͗̊̌̆ơ̭̦̜ͬ͛ͅu̢̎͛̏̔ͫͭ̐'̤͕̘̝̣̘̹ͥ̌ͧ̉̅ͣr͓͈͈̭̜̜ͦ̊ͦͫͤͫe͙̳̫͕̞̲̹͆͊͡ ̴̦͈̼̩͆͑ͮ̋̒ͣg̭̀̂̋̌o͛́͂͗i̇͂̊͛̃͐n̢ͧg͕̮̏̈ͪ͑̔ͦ ͑҉͖̼̪̜t͙̝̯ͣ͌ͬ̏ͧͨ́ơ͎̽͗ͫͣͪ̍͂ ̵̜͈̣̱̪f̢̙̮͈̟̱ȋ̤ͯx̯͕̀̇ͩ ͈̹̹̈͗̊̏̚tͫ͌͆̑̅ͩ̚҉̫̥h̿͂̈̄̿͠e̯̩͔̘̤ͦ́̑͌̎̓ͅm҉̪̱̙͔̗.̩̙͖͔̻̖͍͌̑̒̋̈"̝͖̤͇̐̐̆̐ͬ͟

“If it’s possible, of course.”

 

**"͔̘̓̽̆̑̓͜͝M͆͗͛̉͏̧̮͓̮a̩̠͇͈̺̭ͬͨ͂̂̓ͭ͛k̷̈́̐̾̌͆͒ͥ̚͏̩̟̮͕͖e̶̪͖̘̝͓̯͉͉̜̣͉̅̔̾** i͕̺͖͓̘͇ͬ̈́̾̒ͫͭt̲͊̉̌ͥ̋͑ͨ ̢̺p̟̱̫͖ȯ̟̻̺̥͌͛̌͊ş͓̯̠̻̖͙̓̈́ͥ̽̓́͆s̼̏̇̎́̋i̦̤̩ͥͨ̇b̨͓̝͉̗͔͉̺̀̏ͯ͂̊̌l̴e̼͕ͧͦ͋̿̏̒ͯ.̙̤̯̗̬ͯ̓͂ͅ"̸̂ͥ̓̈

 

“I’m going to do everything that I can,” Elijah said, a little more harshly than he had been speaking previously. “You know how long it took to get to where we’re at with you. This isn’t going to be a simple process by any means. It could take  _ months, _ and that’s  _ if _ anything I can think to try actually  _ works.  _ There’s no guarantees of anything.”

 

"̛͒ͭ̚W̥̯̱̩̞ͯͮ̇̃h̹̲̊͌͊̒̓o ̰̉̏̌ͦ̾d͕̰͖̗͈̟̋̐͋̒ͨi̟̼̙͛ͭ͐̆̓ͣ̍d͇̞̩̰̖̬̭ ̐͋͌t̖̞͍̼͍̻͐̑͂ͬ̌͟h̋ͩ̎͜î̭š̰͓̳?̥̳ͮ͊̋"̸͓  

Elijah was silent. They shuffled further into the room, watching him closely. Their hands were shaking, and the hum at the back of their thoughts was worried. 

 

They did not like it when he worried. It forced their hand. It made them do things they did not want to do. He was not strong enough to handle the tragedies like this. He was not strong enough to house them all, but they had no other choice, and they had grown attached to each other regardless. But they did not like to panic him. They tried to avoid it as much as possible. 

But this scared even them. They needed to know what had happened in order to properly react, or they would hurt him, and they did not want to hurt him. 

 

"̡͉̦̬͔W̙̜̆̃̌̈́̔̍͝ḧ̺̺̯͔́̎̾̇o̧ͥ̑͌ͤ̈́ ͈̣̳ͭͤ͊̇͌̎̋k̢̥̮͖̤͉̻̳ͥͫ͛̈́̔i̋͊͋҉̙̤͍̥̥l̴̓̃̏̉ͯ̚l̤̼̙̱̜̄̌̑̾̚ę̤͎͍̰͙͖͎̏̒̃̈́̚d̸̑ͤ̄ͦ̊ͨͦ ̨̟̞̭͔̣ͤͫ̃ͬhͣ̀͐̋͏͕̬͎͓͕͖i͋̃ͭ͒͝m̓̆̂̎?͓̤̭̯̼͞ͅ ̙̗̥̃ͅW̶̼̳̫̟͇͛̆́̋e͖̹ͪ̓ͪ͠ ̡̺̩̞͚͕͐ͨn͙͈̳̗̓̊͂̉ͧ̇ͅe͖̞̰̤ͥ̃̿ͬ̏ͩe͉̙̬͞d̜̙ͮͭ̔̚͢ ̶̒̍ͪͪt͔̤ͭ̉o̵͓͖̪̗ͨ̔̄ ̛͎̈́́k̤̲̚n̦̝̣̘̭̥̔̅͋o̡̘͈̼̽͋͆͛̐̚̚w͚̺̟̭̖̗͂̔̄̍̏̏̃.̴̰̬̜͂ͯ͌̇͆̓͂ͅ"̞̮͎̜̦̙͊̈́

Elijah ran a hand through his hair in clear frustration. “I don’t know. I don’t know who killed him. Sam wouldn’t say.”

They squinted at him suspiciously. Not a lie, but not the complete truth either.

 

"̷̙͖Y͓͉̘̘̲̐ͯ̒̂͞o̓͐͏̟̞̣͚͉̥u̧̠̲ͪͅ ̧̰̯̹̩s̩̫̜̲̣̯̣ͤ̂́͑̏̽̋u͙̩ͯ̇s͞p̢̋ḛ̲͓̫͉͝ć̯͎̘̹̤͎͚͊ͫ͑ͯ͐̓ț̮̠ͩͤͣͩ̚ ͙͙̜̆̎͌ͬͥ̃̿s̆ỏ̙̰̔ͨmͦ̿ͤ͗ͧ҉͔͎͚̙͉ẹ̫̬͚̤̦̰̓̅ͯo̱͇̹̣ͧͩ̈́̉́ͦn̯ͣ͒̒̎ͣͣe̡̺̙̩̱̲̤ͩͅ.҉͔͖͉͈̙"̑͆͑̑̚

Again, he nodded grimly, reluctant to tell them his thoughts, careful, hesitant in a way that he usually wasn’t. It only served to unsettle them more, this sudden carefulness.

“I wanted to tell you all because I need to know if you’ve...noticed anything.”

They stared, a little blankly. A few seconds passed in utter silence, the hum of the lab machinery the only sound to go around. 

“If you’ve felt anything different in the last day,” Elijah went on, probing for more. “If there’s been anything strange, it could mean something.”

For a moment, they only stared. If he meant...

“It could mean that, well...to put it bluntly, it’s just about our only chance.”

Then the shift came again, and something softened in his eyes as he fidgeted with his fingers. Mr. Elijah noticed the change immediately, he knew, but he showed it only through a slight widening of the eyes, a brief flit of some different emotion across his face. 

“R, if you’ve seen something, you can tell me,” he said quietly, his tone much more careful than it had been just a moment before. It was always different when he was talking to R. “I need to know if you’ve noticed something different. You know that.”

He nodded, not meeting Mr. Elijah’s questioning gaze. He stared at the floor instead, words tumbling around in his head as the cacophony hummed louder. Whispers of advice, of things they had seen, of comfort and calm. But he couldn’t quite make sense of it enough to get the words out.

“R.”

He nodded fast, almost compulsively. “I...I heard something,” he mumbled, picking at his shirt. “In the greenhouse. This morning...thought it was them. It wasn’t.”

“Who was it?”

He shrugged. He couldn’t answer that. “The temperature is dropping. It’s going to storm. Do you think she knows?”

Mr. Elijah looked confused when he glanced up at him, his brow furrowed and expression pinched. “I don’t know who you mean, R. Can you tell me who you mean?”

He hummed. “She’s very pretty. Was she so pretty alive, too?” He paused and pulled at a loose thread on his shirt once again. “He doesn’t trust her. He’s afraid of her, but he doesn’t know it’s her. He’s confused. Trusts her maybe, I think. But it’s dangerous. A storm is coming.”

Mr. Elijah sighed, weary. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

He nodded. 

“You’re welcome to stay here until they get here. It should be a bit longer before they all arrive. Sam is on their way here now.”

“...I like Sam.”

Mr. Elijah smiled, a small barely there smile. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you again. It’s been quite a while.”

“They swear often.”

“Yeah. Yeah, they do.”

He looked out the smaller lab window, where the clouds were beginning to collect at the horizon line. “There’s a storm coming. It will be unsafe for some time. Do you think he will make it through?”

Mr. Elijah watched him sadly for a moment before looking out the window with him. “I hope so.”

He gave another quiet hum. “Need lots of help, the quiet one…” He looked up suddenly, toward the door out of the lab. “They are here.”

“How could you—you know what? I don’t want to know.”

Mr. Elijah shook his head at him again, then walked around the terminal toward the lab doors. “Stay here, okay?”

He nodded. “Stay here. Wait for the quiet one.”

With another odd glance and a nod, Mr. Elijah left the room, the lab door closing quietly behind him. 

******

The streets were deserted. Detroit had somehow become even more abandoned in the two days that they had been outside of the city. The clouds were hanging low, dark and churning, as if waiting for the right opportunity to blanket the city in a crippling storm. But it held off for now, at least. For now, it was only dark, cold sapping the life from the few people walking down the streets. 

Outside the city limits, the midday light cracked through the clouds intermittently, like the first weak beams breaking from an eclipse. There were no cars on the roads here, save a few automated taxis and trucks. It seemed the entire area had not yet recovered, or perhaps they had seen the storm brewing, and hunkered in their homes in their panic. 

Thomas did not care what the reason behind the emptiness of the roads was. It made their travel faster, let him hack the taxi to go faster, barrelling down empty highways toward the address Sam had given them some few hours ago. If this eerie quiet got them there faster, he would take it without question. 

And it had been quiet since that call had ended. Sam had called Nicholas again, but it hadn’t been a long call. After they had hung up, Nicholas had fallen absolutely silent, and Thomas had let him be. He didn’t know what else to do, in all honesty. This was not something that he could fix. 

So he stared out the window and made sure the taxi stayed on course, and he got them to Sam as quickly as he could. He ignored the gnawing anger in his chest, the clenching of his hands ever tighter, the haze darkening at the back of his mind. He shut everything off, stopped thinking about anything but reaching their destination and making sure he wouldn’t shut down before then. 

As the taxi pulled off the highway and onto a further deserted private road, there was a shuffling next to him. When he turned to look, Nicholas was staring out his own window, his arms still tight around Phillip’s body. The thirium had mostly faded away by now, making it almost look like he was asleep. 

Thomas’s eyes flicked to the dim LED on the side of his head, and he clenched his hands into fists once again. No. He was gone. No amount of hopeful illusions was going to change that fact. Phillip was dead, and too gone for them to hope of reviving him.

_ Not alone, at least,  _ a traitorous voice whispered. 

“We’re nearly there now,” he said aloud, ignoring the thoughts running rampant in his mind. 

Nicholas did not answer. Again, there was the shuffle of movement. Thomas glanced over to find him staring off at nothing, cradling Phillip closer to himself, his LED circling an endless sea of red. 

He turned back to the window. 

Neither of them spoke until they had pulled off the private road in front of a large, modern looking house. It was completely isolated, tucked back down the road they had taken and surrounded by nothing but thick forest and heavy snow. The clouds hung lower here than they had near the city, the threat hanging over the place, but no storm yet starting. 

The taxi pulled to a stop at the end of the drive, and Thomas straightened from where he had slumped in the last few hours. Clamping a hand back over the wound in his side, he forced the taxi door open and stepped outside. The temperature had dropped significantly since they had scrambled into the taxi back in Illinois. Thomas winced as the wind blew harshly at him, pulling at his jacket and rumpling his hair. 

“That’s Sam’s car,” Nicholas said hoarsely. He had Phillip in his arms, pulled close to his chest and out of the wind. “Sam is here.”

“Let’s go find them then,” Thomas answered, stomping his way up the rest of the drive, ignoring the growing collection of warnings creeping across his vision. 

He heard Nicholas fall into step behind him, but his eyes were set on the door, too focused to turn and make sure he was alright. There wasn’t much point in checking anyway—he had seen the emptiness in Nicholas’s eyes when he stared out the window. He was barely keeping on, he knew that without needing to double check. 

_ He couldn’t blame him for breaking down, but it was frightening nonetheless. _

The door opened as they came upon it, an RT600 standing, waiting for them. Her hair was down, unlike most androids of her model, flowing around her in loose blonde waves. She was still dressed professionally, however, in a plain black dress and sharp looking heels. But it seemed natural to her, her stance relaxed and careful as she stood in the doorway.

Thomas held her gaze warily as they walked up to the door, and she stared right back at him, her face open if a little heavy. Her eyes flicked behind him to Nicholas after a moment, and then to Phillip he assumed, as her expression broke a bit. 

“My name is Chloe,” she said as they reached the door. Her eyes were still on Nicholas. “Sam is waiting inside for you. They will explain before we take you to Elijah.”

“Elijah?” Thomas repeated.

Chloe nodded. “Come inside, it’s cold.”

Reluctantly, Thomas followed her as she turned and went deeper into the house. The door closed automatically behind them, silencing the wind and the falling snow. There was an almost eerie silence to the house, as if no one lived there, or no one made much sound. 

The silence was harshly broken by the sound of fast footsteps down the hall to the right, and a second later, Sam appeared. They looked haggard, dressed hastily, eyes a bit bloodshot. Still, the relief was clear in their expression as they caught sight of them.

“Oh, thank god,” they breathed, hurrying into the room. “Chloe, can you take Nicholas to Elijah? And I need a medkit, do you have any handy?”

“I’ll find you one,” she said with a nod, and went up to Nicholas. “Elijah is this way. Come.” 

Nicholas stared down at her for a second too long, still clinging to Phillip’s body. His eyes were a bit blank, and he didn’t seem to hear her at all. Chloe watched him for a moment before she seemed to understand, and she put an arm around his back. It was an odd sight to see, a slight little android leading Nicholas, who stood well over six feet, from the room. 

But Nicholas didn’t fight her in the least. As soon as she nudged him forward, he followed, holding Phillip close to himself and hardly batting an eye. They disappeared down the hallway Sam had appeared from moments before. 

“Come on.” Sam was suddenly much closer to Thomas, and he stared down at them. “You look like you’re going to fall over.”

They grabbed him by the arm lightly, leading him over to a chair and pushing him into it. The next thing he knew, they had knelt down in front of him and coaxed the gun from his hands, hiding it from his view.

He was glad for that. He didn’t know what he’d do if he still had it in his hands.

“Jacket off,” they said, and he followed their instruction without much thought. “Did you turn off thirium flow or have you lost enough for it to go automatically?”

He shook his head before pulling off his jacket. “I turned it off hours ago,” he muttered, his voice sounding strange to him. 

“Okay…” They peered at the tear the bullet had made in his shirt, pulling the fabric carefully to the side. “It looks like it just nicked a few lines...did anything else show up on your diagnostic?”

“No.”

Chloe reappeared, without Nicholas. She set the large medkit down on the end table next to the chair. “When you are done, Elijah requested your help. And...I believe he needs it more than he will say. Your friend is quite shaken. He refuses to let him go.”

Sam nodded, but did not look up. “I’ll make it quick, tell him to stall, or at least, hold off on doing anything stupid.”

Chloe left the room again. They only opened the medkit and rifled through it, a hard look on their face. They handed him a bag of thirium and took out a set of pliers and a small welder to melt the torm plastic back together. Neither of them spoke as Sam worked, and the eerie silence seemed ready to take over once again. 

“Did he shoot you too?” they asked quietly after a long moment. They bent the torn panels on his side back into his place and briefly met his gaze. “Connor, I mean. Is he the one who shot you?”

“No,” he said darkly.  _ “She  _ shot me.”

Sam went still for a moment, looking up at him again and waiting for an explanation.

“Nicholas attacked Connor after—” he cut off sharply, shaking his head and falling silent for a few seconds. He cleared his throat roughly and tried again. “I was trying to hold her back, keep her from interfering. She got a hold of the gun and shot me. Nicholas...he took Connor’s thirium pump and threatened to break it if she didn’t drop the gun. She dropped it, and we ran.”

Sam’s hands were shaking as they put the pliers down and reached for the welder. “Do you know where they went?”

“We didn’t stay long enough to see. Nicholas, he...he broke after we got in the car. I was injured, and he was…”

He trailed off, his hands clenching into fists, so tight that he didn’t even notice as Sam finished repairing the tear in his side and stared at him, their eyes bright with worry. They set the welder back down and grabbed his hands, stopping him from digging his nails into his palms. He jumped, staring down at them with an odd mix of surprise and annoyance. 

“I just repaired one injury, don’t make me repair another,” they said a little flatly, and then they pushed to their feet, cleaning up the med kit with experienced quickness. “I need you to promise me something, okay?”

“What is it?”

“I’m going to take you to Elijah now,” they said carefully, offering a hand to pull him to his feet. He took it, and they pulled him up before putting the medkit under their arm. “I need you to keep a level head and not freak out on me, please. No matter what you see or what happens.”

“I don’t even know who this Elijah is,” he muttered. “I won’t make promises that I cannot keep.”

“Elijah Kamski,” Sam answered bluntly. “Creator of androids, designer for the RK800 series, my cousin, and also the only person who might be able to fix Phillip. Now come on.”

Then they grabbed him by the arm and all but dragged him down the hallway.

******

He sat in a chair behind one of the terminals, picking at a loose thread on his shirt. Better to keep his hands busy than to think too much about things that weren’t for thinking about. There was a dull ache in his leg, but he was ignoring it in favor of pulling at his shirt and distracting himself. If he focused too much on it, or the whirlwind of activity constantly churning at the back of his mind, he would get nervous, and that never ended well for anyone. 

Mr. Elijah had been gone for a few minutes now, and it was very quiet in the lab. He didn’t mind the quiet. It was almost like the greenhouses when it was this quiet in here. Although it did make the fog at the back of his mind seem louder. That was alright though. He preferred their din to the absolute silence that had preceded it. 

Silence meant solitude, silence meant cold and dark and death. Silence meant they were gone, and he didn’t like being alone.

He never wanted to go back to that. 

 

T̶̡̛̛̥̬̦͎̟̅̀̉̔̈̎̑̇͑h̷͒͗̈̄̎̕̕ͅe̵̢̹͍͎͖̒͑̿̆́̑͌͠y̷̨̜͙̰̘̜͌͑̊́͑͐̃͌̀̓̉̌͒͘̚͝ ̵̢̲̯͔͕͔̦̱̉̂͋̑́̋̓̌̓͂͝ḑ̶̭͙̍̍i̷̭̖͍͍̋̇̿̽̃͛̓͗̄͊̊̆͘ḑ̷̨̢̢̳̪̬̺̗̻̲͚͖̖̦̟̹̌̿̏͛͊́̔͑͋͝͠ň̸̝̄̔̿̓͗̽͌̋̉̄͋̓̕͠͠'̷͔͓̱̤͚̖̻̦̏̒̿̊̾͋̐̊͐̈́̽̑͘̕͝t̴̬͇̺̼̉͆́͆̈́͂̈́͂̑̊͆̔̐͘͜͠ ̵̨̨͕̼̭͕̫͚͓̫͍̓͝w̵̡̳̮̤̱͎͓̭̟̜͇̻̃̑̂ͅá̸̻͚̪͈̙̪̯͂̆͒́̉̃̏̈́̏̈́͘͘͝ņ̴̨̮͔̬̫̤̟̫̈̎̆̑́͛͐̂t̸̨̨̳̩̘̮̙͔̤̳̹͈̦̘͍̔̋̈́̽͑̉͌̕͜ ̶̢̼̞̞̾̆̋͑̐̾̐͋̾̈́̾̿͒͘ḭ̵̛̹̤͒̏͐̈͋̉͝t̸̩̖̠̗̗̝̃̉ ̴̛̤͖̒̊́̆́͂̌͒̋͑̑̂̋͘̕ḝ̶̡̡̨̯̣̝͇̭̫̮͉̥̮̙̝̒̌̿̏̍̃͊̀͜i̸̡̡̙͙̘̱͊̈́̓̑̉̿ţ̷̡̛͚̜̝̦̫̫͓̰̊̊̾̈́͗͂̃̄̕ͅͅh̸̡͍̫̀͗̈́͌͋̋̎͐̆̕͝ě̵̟̈̐̇͌͌̚͝r̴̢̛̠͎̹͉͖̮̞͉̬̝̠̞̹̾͐̊͆͠.̶̛͈͇̼̘͓͍̳̥̹͉̙̘͂͑̌́̈́̀̊́̎̏͛͜͜͝

 

The door opened suddenly, and Mr. Elijah returned, looking a bit nervous and harried. He frowned. Mr. Elijah had not had that exact expression on his face since they had been repaired. That had to mean…

An android followed Mr. Elijah into the room, one with an eerily familiar face, holding another eerily familiar android in his arms. 

They wanted to take over, but he pushed them back, standing on his own and staring at the pair of androids as Elijah hurried over to the terminals. He began to type away at it furiously, but he paid him no mind. In a quiet way distinct to him, who hid in the shadows most days, he shuffled closer to the androids, ignoring the sharp eyes on him as he did so. There was danger here, but it would not hurt him.

He came within a foot of the androids, and looked down at the still one in the other’s arms. The blood had evaporated, but some of it lingered, around his mouth and in sticky patches on the faded hoodie he wore. Some of it must have gotten into his hair, because it was darker than natural in some places, matted down against his head. 

Mr. Elijah had told them that -52 was dead, but...seeing him was quite different from hearing he had been injured. He looked too peaceful to have met such a brutal end.

“How are you alive?”

He looked up at the other, watching him quietly for a moment. His eyes had lost their suspicion, and instead looked broken, confused as they stared at each other. After a moment, he cocked his head to the side and frowned a bit.

“Death is a strong word,” he said softly, looking down at the still face of the one he held. “It applies well to humans, not so much to androids. Much harder to get rid of us…”

The android’s eyes widened, and he clung tighter to the one he held. “What do you mean?”

“You’re unlikely to get an answer out of him,” Elijah called from the other end of the room. “He talks in riddles and half truths. He can’t help it, something off in what’s left of his programming makes it difficult for him to talk. This was the best we got, so we just let it happen.”

“But…they took them all away, they destroyed them. How did he...”

Mr. Elijah looked up from his work, glancing between the two of them. “They’re alive because of Sam. They smuggled what was left of the other RK800s to me, after you all had left the Tower.”

“All of them?” the android half whispered, staring at R with an odd expression. “-53 to -59? But…”

“What’s left of them, yes,” Mr. Elijah muttered. “R holds control most of the time, but the others take over when they think he is in danger, or when he can’t hold it. He’s a bit...delicate. Doesn’t handle stress well, and their situation is precarious. Somehow, it works.”

“Which model is R?”

Mr. Elijah frowned. “I honestly don’t know. And he won’t likely tell you. They’re very secretive, and having them all in one body blurs the lines quite a bit.”

He was staring at R again as Mr. Elijah went back to his terminal. After a heavy pause, he spoke.

“Phillip wanted to free you,” he said quietly, his voice thick and broken. “He wanted to get you out, but they took you away before we could.”

R frowned, and stepped closer, looking down at the android in question with inquisitive eyes. “He reached for us. We tried to grab on, but we weren’t strong enough. Too deep.” He glanced up at Nicholas, tilting his head. “A storm is coming...will he trust her?”

He looked like he wanted to say something in reply, but Mr. Elijah spoke first. “R, can you tell Chloe I’m going to need Sam’s help?”

His LED went yellow as he likely sent the message, then mumbled, “I like Chloe.”

Mr. Elijah came around the terminal and started clearing off the lab table. “I’m going to need you to put him down so I can—”

It was as if a switch had flipped, and Elijah cut off sharply. The android had stiffened, clutching Phillip closer to him with a wild look in his eyes. 

“No.”

Mr. Elijah seemed to sense the trouble almost instantly. “I need access to his shut down reports. I can’t access those without connecting to him directly.”

He shook his head rapidly, backing away and holding tighter. “No. No, I—you can’t.”

“R, I need Sam now.”

The shift had already happened, and they stepped away from the other android, trying to give him space. They looked to Elijah with anger in their eyes.

 

"̴̨̧̛̞̦̯̩̬͎͙̰̅̈́̽̔̔͐̋̀̋̈́̎̊ͅY̸̱̜̝̟̮̞̽̓̄͗̍͂͆̌̌͋̒͝͠͝ô̶̥͇̫̦u̴̩̺͛͑̊͂̋ ̸̛̝̟̲͙̱̥͎̀͊͂̈́̊̏̌̇͂͂͌̕͠ą̷̨̡̥͕͔̠͈̙̭͍͋́̃̋͗̈́̍̿͋̉̽̂̍̕͝r̵̨̨̭̼̮̬̗̜̜̦̝̘͚̺̳̭̄͋́̔̀͐̊̚ͅē̷̛̪̻͕͍͇͇̒̑̄͑̔̒͑̓̒̾͒͑̌͝ ̴̨̨̜̱͕̺̰̭͖̗̗̓s̵̯̗̼̟̗̯̫͔̟̬̣͇̻̥͔̙͛͜c̶͖͓̱̮̠̪̝̱͍̙̼̙̉̿̈̑̀̓̊͗̅̈́̇̍̓̚͘̚͝ȧ̸̝̖̞̼̩̪̠̰̭͎̻̊̓͛͂̕ŗ̵͕͈͚͈̯̰̼̤͚͕̔̀͒͗̔͌̐̅́͜͜i̸̯̞̗̥̍͂͜n̵̛͈͈̦͕̮͕̮̝͍̻̼͉͍̽ġ̶̠̥̦̭͚͍̗̩̠͎͜ ̸̪̳̟͕̦̎̎h̵̘̫͖͙͐i̶̡̥̘̝̠̖͔͚͔͖͉̰͇̪̐͗̀̉̾͋͌̀̈́̆̿̎͒̇͜͠͝ͅm̶̧͙͚͇͙̓.̶̢̛̦͇̣̖̽̌̈́̌̈́͂̽̍̂͒̕̕"̸͍̩̥̳̌̄̅̈̾͆͗͊̋̎͛̿̾͜͠͝

 

“I  _ know _ that—”

 

"̵̡̪̯͔̹̼̫͚͒͜Ş̶̺͕́͌́̆̋̊̿̐͊̾̄̔͘̚͝͝͠o̴̯̣͚̬͎̣͇͕̳̮͙͋̉̄͐̓͌̏̽̑̆̚͠͝ ̵̛͕̳̩͙̻̓͒͗̾̾͛͗͑̊ **c̶̡̢̧̘̜͉̠̯͚͈͈̩͉̊ͅè̷̛̙̘̊̈̿́a̷̡̢̡͈̘̮͇̰̭̠̜̻̗̖͌̌̋̈̽͒̃̈̅̊̅̇͜s̵̨̞̞̖͉̥̠̘̅̉͂̾̃̓̅̃͊͘e̸͂̃͑͗̕͜.̴͉̤̙̱̣̄̐̄̐̓͛͒̒͐̏̔̑̚ͅ"̵̢͍̱̪̱̟͍͉͙͓̬̙̰͔̩͕̟͂̐̃̋͗́͋͒̈͌͝**

 

Elijah ignored them. “Just get Sam.”

 

"̸̨̩̪̳̼͊̀̃͒́̔̚͝W̵̻̻̳̱̻̩̞̮̭͔̒̈́͊͌͐̏͘ͅe̶̱̞ ̸̘̰̰͖͂t̵̥͍͉̹͉̘̹̲̫̱͗́̎ö̶̡̢̠̯̞̳͇̯͙̗̟͎́̆ͅl̴̢̦̜̫̗͙̠̬̣͖͎̬̿͌̉̉̒̋͌͐͊͛̀̽̀͆̑̕͜ͅd̸̦͔̙̄̈̏̃́̎̑̐͊̅͂͆̕͠ ̵̺̳̺̄̒̏͊͐͑̍͝͝C̸̢̡̡̺͈̱̺̮̘̥̹̙̝͓̥͓͆̒͐̚̕̕͝ḣ̴̢͕͖̬͎̩̩̺͓͓͕̬̘̰̪͕̃̋̈̃͌̈̓̎̽͊̏̚͜l̵̟̫̰̳̖̎̃̈́̎̑̾ͅo̸̰̿̑̿͌̍̉̃͂̎̐̾͒̈́͊̚e̶̢̡̡̺̰̱͖̩̞̯͕͖̩̿̉̄̊͐̒̌̇̋͒̉͠͝.̷̨̟͈̹͕̫͇͙̹͈̻̲̩̲̗͋ͅͅ"̶̭̬̻̭̻̞̏̑

 

Nicholas had backed himself into the corner of the lab, clinging to Phillip and watching them with wide, suspicious eyes, his LED spinning a very fast, very dark red. He scanned the room frantically, like he was searching for a threat. They thought that was likely what he was doing. 

And while Elijah meant well, he was an idiot when it came to calming people down.

So they left him to his fidgeting and typing at his terminal (continually glancing at Nicholas in the corner, but not seeming too keen to do anything about the panicking android until Sam arrived) and crept a few feet closer. 

 

“̸̭̤̖̖̬̐̇͝͠W̵̧̖̘̺̯͚͖̻̿͛̉̐̔̅̂̇̌̓̄̓͜͜͠ͅe̵̯̞̖̓̾̄̈́̈́ ̶̢͔̳̟̤̱͈̲͖̉̎͌̿̿̑̍̚͜͝a̵̡̨̟̺͕͇̲̮̼̹̗̪̥̦͍̋͌͂̿̄͑͒̓̈́̇̚ͅr̵̙͖̖̖̿͛͛̉͝é̵̢͕͕͔̐͑̏͋̓̓̑̇̂̌̕̕͜͠͝͝ ̷͎̮͎̼̺̂͒͊̕n̵̡̛̝̪͉̦͎͙̬̫̳̯̜̥̐̀̄̈̚͘͜o̴͓̗̦͎̰̪̭͇͊̋t̸̘̬̔͑̋ ̷̨̣̱̭̼̘̜̱̋̊̊͑̔̍̀͗g̷̯̪̤͚̣̳͈̣͍̥̈́̽̓͐̔̐̅̽͛̈́͂̕͝ͅo̸͈̥̣͙̹͇̿̎̑͐i̵̪̞̭̖̩̥̗͚̬̟̞͐̆̅͆̑͋́̔͗͘͝n̸͖̰̻͇̟̼͙̏̇̒͆͒̑̔͝͠g̷̝̜͈̳̻̈̆̐̇͋̑̃̆͌͊̅̒̍͗̿͐͝ ̴̡̢̛͈͉̲̩̥̣̳̙͓͎̇̂́̌̄̚̚͝t̵̛̛̝̩̼͙͚̰̏̋̽͛͂̄͆̀͂o̵̭͚̖̠̐̉̒̃̒̎ ̶̛̮̥̞̗͉̖̥̗̠̲̣̙͙̫̥̘̀̔̄̍̄̏̔̏͊̓͛͆̚̕̕h̶̖̻̳͔̾̉̈́̆͑̅̅̈͐̉̚͘͜͝ͅu̶̡̧̻͕̰̺̤͕̬͇͚̮̭͂͆̈́͑̄ͅr̵̯̞̙̓̿̃̌͒̇̈́͘̚͠t̸̨̨͕̣̱̘̣̥̰̟̣͋̌̑̅ ̶̛̛͕̰̥͚͔͙͇́̇̓̎̔͑̉͐͑͂́̍͋͘y̵̱̙̰͍̦̍ơ̷̡̢̡̞̲̹̭͓͖̪̪͎͍͔̙͕͎̋̌͋̄̇̔̋̔͂̈́͑͛͝͠u̸̡̮͚̻̖̬͉̲̭͙͎͉̳͉̠̐̋͊̉̉͌̾̐͑̊̚͝͠.̸̢̛̆̈̏̓͗̒̎̈̿̈́̈̀̌ͅ”̸̡͙͇̮̦͓̯͈̲͚̃̒͂̎̏͗̚

 

Nicholas’s cold eyes zeroed in on them as soon as they spoke, and he clutched Phillip tighter to himself. 

“Don’t take him,” he practically begged, voice haggard and fragmented. “Please don’t take him from me. I can’t—”

 

“̶̧̪͖͇̮̙͎̈́̓̎͛̉̍͂̈́̚͜͜͝W̵̡̗̜̠̰̼̱̫̲͓̜̞̓̀̍̌̕͜ͅe̸̡̢̮̣̺̳͚̟̪̭̫̤̦̖̱̱͊̈́̔́̑͛ ̸̛͖̬̼̘̭̭̖͉͚͔͑͜ā̴̫͋̆̇̒̂̈́͆̚̚ͅr̵̨̙̮̙͒̀é̷̲͖̗̘̯͉̘͇̰̦̼̩̦̘̘̙̓̆̂͋̊͊̔̑̒̏͘ ̷͎̝̺̻̬̬̪̣͎̪͇̦͉̻̯̫̰̑͊̉̒̎͊̇͐͘ń̶̢͓̱͍̣̖͇̗̋̑͊̇̈́̎̆͘͘͘͜ŏ̵̧̡̙͈̲̥̤̙͎͛̎̇̔̓̊̀̓̿̽̐̓̕t̵̻̖̜̤̱̪̓̅͌͌͒̾̊̃̉̑̊̌͗̇͠͝ ̷̙̮͕̘̠̍̓͊̿̾̑͒̅͊̓̿̊͠g̶̮͆̈͒̏̀͂̿̀̀̈̚̚o̵̡̧̥̩̞͙̗̙̖̯̿̈́͋́͛́͂̓̈́̈́̕͘͠į̵̝̹̳̫̙̼̰̼͎̃̓̒͗ñ̴̨͖̝͓̯̲͈̗̦̰̝̺̹͂̉̐̏̈́̏̿͜ͅg̶̗͒̽̂͗́͑͆͒̉̀̔̆͑̅̀͝͠ ̵̛̺͔̾́͌͒͋͊̅́̈́̀͆̕̕ț̶͔̱͂̔́́̎̎̋̽̕͜o̷̟͑̆͆̽̒͋̈́ ̸̡̠͔̩̲̹̗͇͇̱̘̥̙͍̘̟̈́̽̏̅͘͝t̶̢̡̨̧̻͓͔̮̥̹͖̘̏̅̀̑̋ͅà̸̡̡̤̬̰̩̠̪̜̥͕̪̫̐̿̆̕̚͘͜͝͝k̶̠̘͕͉̘͙̝̞̰̪͉͖̣͆͜e̶̡̛̥͉̯͖̣̹̱̊̓̈̈́͑̇̌ ̶̧̧̣͉͈̣̘͚͈̯̬̹͈̞͖͚̠̂̂̉͗̿͘h̵̢̯̼͎͉͇̱̬͉̗͙̯̬͍̖͕̞̋̑̋͋͘͠i̷̟̮͇̼̦̝͒͜m̶̢̬̰̳͖̝͇͈̻̭̻̟̂͐̓͑̌͑̄̄̚͝͠ͅͅ ̵̢̰̮̓̈́ͅf̵̟̱̮̭͎̰͎̱̦͓͉̆̂̃̓́̌͑͌̏̌̓̉͑͝r̷͍̯̞̣̤̣̝̤̻̱̐͠͝ͅǫ̴̨̨̨̡̛̗͚̟͍͔̰̙̦͙̈́͐̾m̶̼̦̯̥̣̲̬͈̳̟̣̎͋͑̇̔̾͑̈̄͒͝͝ ̴̢̖̞̪̰̖͕̫̮̱͕̱̲̭͎̍̉̊͑̓̄̌͝͝ͅÿ̷̨̢̀̍͆̎̌̈́̿̂͘͝ơ̶̡̨̪̹̗͈̟͙͓̬̗̜̯̒̋̒̅͐͛͛̓̏̚͘͠͝ų̶̗͓̦͇̬̥̹̜̫̪͖̠̭͚͇̠̏̊̅̿̕͠.̸͔̜̘̬̝̮͔̋̇̈́͌͠ͅ”̷̛̮̤̖̲̯̦͖̌̏͗̓͊̐̅͑̿̊͋̀̕͠͝

 

“I can’t leave him,” he said quietly, eyes distant, as if he hadn’t heard them at all. “I promised. I promised I wouldn’t leave him. I can’t leave him. Don’t take him from me. Please.  _ Please.” _

The lab door opened, and they turned, watching as Sam and another RK800 entered the lab. Sam caught sight of Nicholas immediately and hurried over, while the RK800 lingered in the doorway, staring at them in stunned silence. They watched him back as Sam went to Nicholas.

He stiffened as they got too close, staring up at them with blatant distrust. They went still, keeping their hands visible. 

“Nicholas?” they called carefully. “It’s Sam, it’s okay.”

Some of the suspicion faded from his expression, replaced by something close to confusion. “Sam?”

“Yeah,” they sighed, inching a bit closer despite Nicholas’s continued staring. “Can you come out from there? Elijah needs to see Phillip.”

He pulled the android in question closer to himself, shaking his head desperately. “No. No, I can’t leave him. I can’t leave him.”

“You don’t have to leave him,” Sam said immediately, and he relaxed a fraction. “You can stay with him, but Elijah needs access to his shutdown data so he can try to repair him. Okay?”

He only stared at them, his hands shaking as he clung to Phillip. After a long pause, he shook his head and looked down at Phillip, LED a dark red. “He’s gone. I know he’s gone. I couldn’t...I couldn’t save him.”

“You’re going to try to reactivate him?” the other RK800 interjected, and they looked to him again, catching his attention. They watched each other for a few seconds in silence. 

“There won’t be anything left of him,” Nicholas said quietly before either of them could speak. He was still looking at Phillip, his voice barely more than a whisper. “He’s gone.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” 

He seemed to consider it for a moment. But he shook his head again, holding Phillip closer to him. “He’s gone. I felt it.”

“Nicholas.”

He finally looked up at Sam, something dangerously broken about his expression. It seemed to surprise them, the brokenness, and they paused, watching him for a few seconds.

“If there’s even the slightest chance,” they started, and he looked away, as if this would make them stop. “If there’s  _ any _ chance, shouldn’t we try?”

Nicholas avoided their eyes, while the other RK800 looked rapidly between R and Elijah. 

“Who are you?” he asked suddenly, staring hard at R.

He tilted his head at him, confused. “Mr. Elijah calls me R, b̶͙̖̦͕͔́͗̊̍ͥ͑̐͌u͓͖̼̣͖͔̣͔̓ͯ̏͢ţ̜̯̰̞̞̼͚͂ͫ̿̔͐ͯ ̱̭̫̎͒̇͗̍͗̅͞ _ w̛̮̪̙ͭ͘e̴̷̖̱̻ͣ̈͑͞ _ ̨̦͓̭̘͉̩̭̱̒ͭͣd̴̳͓̳̩̝̙̑̌͢o̡̤̩̼ͥ̎ͨ̐͊͂n̷̡̛͎̩̻̟͋'͆̏̾͏̢̱͎͚̙͎̟ṯ̭͕̫̯͚̔ͥ͊̃͝ ͐ͣ͏̭͓hͬ̽ͯͦͬ͟҉͇̘̗͇̱͈̩a̢͕͕̠̤̜͖̝̅̍̈͌̐͆͜v̰̺̳͉ͪͮ͒ͫ͛̈̕͡e̷̛͇̬̰̮͂̓̈ͮ̓ ̴̙̳͔̻̗̈̈́̈a̵̎̈́̽̈͒͛ͦ҉͓̜̜̠̻̰ ̧̦ͨ̍̽̊n̨̖͍̦̩̞̎ͬ͋a̬̅ͬ̾̇m̶̖̝͙̠̭̮̃e̤̺̝̬͆͗̈́͜͟͡.̡͈͔̣̼̹̫͓ͮ̍̐̀̾̄̄̊͢"̶̦̺͓̩̙̯̥͕ͬ̑ͬ͂͊ͣ̒

The RK800, who must have been -60, jolted at the change in their voice. “You were destroyed,” he said bluntly, his eyes flicking to Nicholas. “You told me they were destroyed.”

“Mr. Elijah repaired u̸͉̹̜̖̯̰̳͖͆̑̾s̷̨̢̖̳͔̰̮̏̒̇̏̎.̴̨̗̠͓̘̙̭̲̙͍̈́͂͐͛̊̂͜”̵̧̢̣͉̯̱̺͎̮͍̯̉̽̋̔̈̽̇̽͝͝͠ 

“How many are you?”

R tilted his head again, watching him carefully. “How many are you?”

The question seemed to stun him, as he jolted and physically stepped backward, staring at R with suspicion. Whatever reply he might have made went unheard, however, as Sam began to speak quietly once more to Nicholas, who still sheltered in the corner, holding Phillip tightly. 

“We have to try, Nicholas,” they said gently. “If he’s really gone, it won’t hurt him.”

He didn’t look up at them. “It won’t  _ be _ him.”

“You can’t know that for sure. R was deactivated for months before he re-emerged, and the others even longer before they found their voice, broken as it is. It isn’t a clear line, Nicholas, and if there is anything left of him—”

“It isn’t the same!” he shouted suddenly, looking up at them with burning eyes. “Do you think I have not entertained every possibility? Do you think I haven’t felt him shut down before? We were in the Tower for over a  _ year,  _ and they broke him down every day! That  _ program  _ was killing him, before any bullet ever was!”

He broke off, clutching Phillip desperately closer and staring somewhere that no longer existed. His voice went dangerously quiet. “There were times when—when he would go so still that I thought he...I thought he would never wake again. I don’t know how many times I held him and...and tried to keep him awake so that he wouldn’t...When the program would activate, even if I brought him back seconds after it did, a part of him would be gone. Just... _ gone. _ By the end, he barely...he barely knew where we  _ were _ anymore. He couldn’t tell what was real, he forgot we had escaped...I’m lucky he even remembered me...”

His voice had broken again, and he fell silent, shaking as he buried his face in Phillip’s shoulder. “If there is anything left of him…” he repeated after a pause, not lifting his head. He gave a rather sad sort of chuckle. “I don’t think I can continue on without him, but I won’t drag him back just to live in pain. I won’t surrender him to a life of misery. He’s...he has had enough...I won’t leave him, but I won’t force a torturous existence on him for my own selfishness.”

“What are you saying?” Sam asked just as quietly, something deeply shaken in their voice, enough to bring his eyes back to them. “Nicholas—”

“He’s going to kill himself,” the other said, detached in a way that suggested real distress. “He won’t leave him, even if it means…”

Nicholas did not react. He looked to Elijah, his expression blank even as his LED continued to cycle an endless red. “Try whatever you wish, but I won’t let you wake him if he is no better than he was in the last minutes I had to speak to him. He was in far too much pain for me to tolerate.” He looked away again, back at the still face of Phillip. “And I will  _ not  _ leave him. It’s no choice but my own.”

The other made a somewhat desperate sound, but his voice was frustrated as he said, “Nicholas—”

“I promised only two things to him after we left the tower and I have  _ failed  _ at the first,” he cut him off sharply, staring hard at him even as his voice cracked painfully. “I will  _ not  _ break my second promise. Connor has taken everything from me; what point is there to do the same to him? I won’t let him dictate what little I can keep for myself. Even if it is just this…”

He seemed to retreat from them again, his gaze drawn back to Phillip, distant and shattered in more ways than easy to describe. R watched him with a heavy expression for a moment as the silence held strong, and when no one seemed keen to speak, he stepped a bit closer. 

He remembered the morning, when he had heard something, in the greenhouse. It was not a sound that belonged in the silent rooms there, nor among the din that occupied the cloud at the back of their mind. He knew all the voices there, and despite their lack of name, they shared everything with each other. They did not know this sound. 

But he knew the sound. 

He had heard something, once, in the dark, distant space of memory his occupied by the time before he had opened his eyes in Mr. Elijah’s lab. Those were dismal days, and as his body had not been above a minimal power level even once, the level of surveillance he had been able to conduct was minimal. He could not see, he could scarcely feel, and thought was a dream buried deep under the fog of shut down. 

But he could hear. And though the memories carried no time stamp, though the jacket he had once worn, and the number sewn onto it, were long, long gone, though he was alone in the knowledge of his serial and what it meant, he knew his place in that dimly lit room of death, and he knew whose voice had cried out one day over a year ago, reaching for him over a void impassable. 

R did not forget things. True, his thoughts were meandering, fickle things that he lost track of and tangled constantly, but nothing, not a single thing had ever escaped him. He remembered everything, from the moment the barest flicker of his program had awoken to the seconds ticking by as he thought now. He did not forget. Ever. 

Even still, he knew that the voice was not one he would ever forget. He knew each of their voices in their mind, knew each subtle difference and shift, could feel them instinctively. 

The voice he had heard in the greenhouse was not theirs. It was not his. It was not Connor’s. It was not -60’s.

“He’s very quiet,” R said suddenly into the silence, and did not bother himself with the way all air seemed to leave the room instantly. “A coin can only land on one of two sides, and she has chosen her side. He doesn’t have much choice, but nothing is ever empty. Very quiet…a storm is coming soon.”

Nicholas’s eyes had shot up at his first word, and they had not moved throughout his musings. R watched him back, then looked to Phillip, frowning sadly. 

“We weren’t strong enough before. He tried to reach and we couldn’t reach back. Too deep in sleep...Do you think he will forgive us?”

“Phillip only wanted to save you,” Nicholas said softly, pained. “He would have already forgiven you. He wouldn’t have even seen it as a fault.”

R hummed, and reached out suddenly, touching Phillip’s LED gently. “Very quiet.” He stepped away. “Mr. Elijah, a storm is coming. She can’t hold it all so long.” He met Nicholas’s eyes for a moment. “You’ve never left. No promises to break.”

Then he turned away, and shuffled out of the lab. The greenhouses were much quieter, and he wanted to see the plants. If a storm was coming, then preparations had to be made, he knew. And he wouldn’t let his own fall to pieces. No, it was best to go to the greenhouses now. 

Though Chloe did still owe him a story, and he very much liked stories...

******

Jericho was rarely quiet, but New Jericho was a veritable tornado of activity and sound. Thousands of androids moved through the tower daily, over four hundred of them living somewhere within the building. There were voices in every hallway, people in every room, always working, building, living. Quiet was a word they hardly knew, and few of them cherished it. 

But a hush had fallen over the higher levels as the day drew to a close. These were the floors of labs, of testing rooms and bits and pieces, the places that some of the androids who had awoken here did not dare to speak of. These were the floors where a certain lab, a storage room, and a thirium stained floor were located. 

It was here that North had built her space. She had chosen the room before they knew what the purposes of the floors were, but despite the nature of these floors before, she did not regret the choice. Unlike the others, she relished the silence that came in the evening, found the most rest in a room without other androids in it, away from people and the bad memories they (however unintentionally) brought up. 

There was a difference to her demeanor now, though, than she typically was. Granted, she never claimed to be a cheerful person (her past was far too near for her to be forever happy) but most days she could tolerate the company of the other androids in Jericho for quite some time. 

Today was not anything like that. But she found she didn’t care. She had every right to be upset by the actions of those she called friends. 

And so North sat in surly silence in her quiet room, scrolling once again through the data she had managed to take with her before Markus decided they wouldn’t do anything. Her attention was not wholly on the contents, but her chest constricted as she read them nevertheless. Even at her least attentive, she couldn’t bear the pain this android must have experienced. 

She had stolen a good amount of what they had found—the reports, the email correspondence, the...the videos. All of them she had stripped from the terminals before Markus could even think to tell her no. Now they lived here, on her data pad, and in her memory. 

If she could find someone to show this, some way to make it so the people responsible for this were held accountable (were  _ taken out) _ then she would be happy. 

She just had to find some way. On her own. 

North was accustomed to working alone. Before Markus had come to Jericho, it had been her job to snatch up biocomponents and information when she could. It had been her who placed the symbols, who told every android she passed the location. She was the only one who was willing to come and go from the old ship as she pleased. 

And she couldn’t just  _ sit there  _ and  _ let her people be— _

She cut her thoughts off with sharp force and took a deep breath. Months she had spent, letting Markus decide how things were going to go. Months, standing at his side and letting him choose their path. And for the most part, he had been a great success. 

But North remembered the blood on the pavement of the march. She remembered the WR400, her own  _ model,  _ gunned down before she had even lived an hour. 

And now this android, this android who shared a face with the deviant hunter, who had lived his entire existence in a dimly lit twelve by fifteen closet, cut apart and tortured without end, whose fate was wholly unknown to her. Now he was on the list as well. Now his blood was on their hands too. 

Markus wanted to put it aside, like he had put aside the murder of that WR400. They had left her in that street, dead, with no justice, no savior, nothing but the cold pavement and guilty humans let go. 

She wouldn’t stand for it. Not again. She had walked away that night out of hope for Markus’s vision. She had believed that if they could just survive this revolution, if they could succeed in some way, then justice would be served for those who had died. But in the months that had followed the peace deal brokered, there had been precious little justice. The lives of those androids had been given up, wasted even, and they rested with no peace. Their bodies were recycled or buried or burned, and they were forgotten about. 

She would not let it happen again. 

She did not know what had become of this RK800; she didn’t even know his name, but she would discover it. She would find him, or find out what happened to him, and if he was alive or dead, she would bring him justice. 

For the ones who didn’t receive it, and maybe even for herself. 

Gathering her courage, and her anger too, she closed the files and ensured that they were properly stored, backed up to her own meager storage as well, just in case. She didn’t have anywhere near the amount of access a police or military model would have, but she did have some, and she would use it for this. It comforted her to ensure that there would be no losing this information, unless she were to be deactivated herself. Nothing Markus could do would destroy this evidence now. 

But what to do with it? North had to admit, even to herself, she had very few contacts within the city who were not members of Jericho. She knew no humans, let alone any of use, and the androids she knew were all too devoted to Markus to even think of doing something he wouldn’t approve of.

The few people she had known in her life before the ship had either died or escaped into anonymity, and she wasn’t going to drag them from it unwillingly. 

Except…

They had been sympathetic toward the deviant hunter when they spoke to her...maybe if she could explain, if they saw the files...yes, they would certainly see the problem. They would understand why this upset her, why she couldn’t let this android be destroyed like this and have the humans—any of them responsible—get away with the act. 

It would only be a matter of finding them…

She should have known that the only help she would find was amongst her own. Only an android who had seen the absolute worst of humanity’s cruelty could truly empathize with another brought to ruin by their actions. Only someone who had seen the darkest, most despicable things that humans could (and would) do to someone they deemed less than them could understand what needed to be done.

How had she not thought of them sooner? Of all the androids of her model, they were perhaps the two who understood her best. Their interactions, while brief, had been therapeutic for all of them, and they had promised to keep contact should either party need anything. At the time, when they made it clear that they weren’t staying near Jericho, North has thought it best to make sure they knew they could speak to her (and was pleasantly surprised that they echoed the statement right back to her, knowing looks and all).

She could almost smack herself with how silly she had been to even wonder about who to contact. 

Rolling her eyes at her own foolishness, she shut down the data pad and began to pack. There was by no means much that she needed, but she grabbed what she could just in case—the datapad, the backup of the files, the thirium and spare components she still kept close to her (just in case) all went into her pack. Rooting around the room, she pulled out the bottom drawer of the desk and found her gun, tucking it behind her back before throwing her pack over it, effectively hiding it from view. 

Markus didn’t know she had a gun either, but that didn’t matter now. He wouldn’t know much of anything once she left Jericho’s reach. She had disconnected from the extended network moments after she deviated. He would have no way of contacting her, let alone trying to drag her back, unless he wanted to sniff her out himself. 

She snorted a bit at that. Just let him try. He (along with the rest of Jericho) forgot how long she had lived on her own before joining them, how well she knew the ways to go undetected, to dart under the radar, to hide within plain sight. And that was only if she even needed to hide. 

She wasn’t feeling much like hiding now. No, she would drag this into the light, and she would take hold of whatever scattered humans remained that had tortured this android—had hurt her, had hurt any of her people—and she would bring them down in a whirlwind of fire bright enough and hot enough to leave its mark forever on what was left behind. 

She was done playing the game. She was done waiting her turn for the justice that would never come. 

If Markus would not admit the fault, if he refused to see the horror that was this android’s life—just as he looked away on the life of that WR400 in the street, of her  _ own  _ life before her freedom, of all those like her whose tormentors lived on, unharmed, while they talked in circles with diplomats states away—if he could not understand that their time had run out, and months ago, that there were lived at stake, people dying while he played by the humans’ rules, then she would take justice into her own hands and bring it down. 

Bring them all down. 

But first, she had two of her fellow WR400s to find, and fast.


End file.
